Thursday 13 January 2011

I bet Teri Hatcher doesn't spend her days cleaning up cat sick...

So, I've resigned.  From my job.  With no job to go to.   Madness.  But...a liberating madness, the type of madness that makes you giggle hysterically sometimes thinking, "WHAT have I just done?" like getting pregnant, or married.  People are kind, in the main, but I sometimes see a look in their eyes that says, "Are you mental?  You've given up a job in THIS economy?  Hmm, more money than sense."  But I'm free!  Free at last!  So what to do...?
I decide to be domesticated.  I hoover, polish, mop, clean the bathrooms.  Satisfying.  Until the cat comes downstairs meowing plaintively.  "Hey Puss, what's up?" (Yes, I know but he's the only one around to talk to).  He makes a noise that sounds like wine chugging from the bottle (aah, wine) then promptly hurls onto my hoovered, mopped floor.  Right, you furry git, this is war.

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