Words: I'm going to kill the cat
Caffeine: morning cup + midmorning cappuccino
Evil Calories: Had jar of Smarties at desk, now Smarties scattered about in office due to annoying feline monsters
Reality TV: suspended due to NaNoWriMo
My three legged, wheezing feline monster is plotting against me. He sits on the bed in my office/spare room and licks himself. Constantly. I believe he has a bit of a Fabio complex...totally obsessed with himself, unaware of just how much of boob he actually is. I mean, for craps sake, who needs to lick their belly for an hour and half? IT'S CLEAN ALREADY! You're an inside cat and I'm fairly up on my domestic abilities so you can't be that dirty! (Okay, that's a load of crap, my house would probably make you itch, but in my defense, I'm trying to write a novel in 30 days. One cannot type and Swiffer at the same time. Yes, I've tried it.) I sit and try and write, and within thirty seconds I hear thwick, thwick, thwick and it's not a clean, dry thwick, it's a wet, slurpy kind of thwick, that makes me want stick my finger in my eye and swirl it around into my brain. And cats aren't like dogs. If you try and scold them, they just sort of look at you like, "Stupid human. You know I could eat your face while you're sleeping."
And then there's Pele, feline monster #2, our old pissed off bitty of a cat, who hisses at air. If she had a purse, she'd swing it at you. So, when Pep (three-legged monster) isn't licking his foot 7894 times on the bed behind me, Pele comes in and licks the filing cabinet. Yes. The filing cabinet.
Kill me please.
Oh, and this what I would look like with Fergie hair - though I believe this hairstyle went down in popularity after her Today Show appearance, when she sang (destroyed) Heart's Barracuda and humped the stage in front of a large group of children: