[Me, reminding Twixie this is my spot. And that I'm in charge.]
Ruru the Cat here. It's been a stellar week!
No it hasn't.
Shut up, Twixie. Really, it was. For one thing, there were no toddlers. Any week without toddlers is an AWESOME week.
Except the blood.
Ah, come on, Twixie. Such a spoil sport. Just because you bled a little.
A lot. I could have bled to DEATH.
Melodrama much? Anyway, just because you bled a bit does NOT mean it was a bad week. I mean, check it. My person was here two days when she's usually at this awful place called school. (Shudder). She gave me lots of love! And lots and lots of fishie crackers!
Okay, so there was this:
[Me, suffering in one of those awful human things called a costume. I am not a bee. Don't make me look like one.]
And this:
[Yummy-smelling cupcakes my person refused to share with me. Seriously. What gives?]
And, finally, this:
[My person putting a fake spider on my head and laughing.]
So it wasn't exactly a perfect week. But I'll take it because there WERE NO TODDLERS.
But you didn't mention what happened yesterday. What about me?
What about you, Twixie? This is a cat's blog, not a dog's blog. If the people here wanted a dog's blog, they'd go take a nap instead because no one in their right mind would waste time on a dog's blog.
No, I mean how our person's dad scared the crap out of me by walking around, which caused me to cut my foot on a picture frame and bleed everywhere, up and downstairs, through the kitchen and bathroom, everywhere before anyone noticed and did something.
Don't remind me. Some rooms still smell of dog. Blech.
[A dog's pain and suffering.]
It hurt! A lot! I felt weak and woozy. Instead of holding me and loving me forever and making it better, my person's mom held something to my owie foot until I wanted to cry like a person then they wrapped my owie up so I couldn't lick at it and make it all better THEN they trapped me in a kennel so I couldn't run around or anything. They gave me hamburger to eat, which was nice, but my foot still hurt--a lot--and still hurts and they let me out of the kennel, but they're making me wear this bandage thing and blocking me from peeling it off my foot by sticking me in a cone thingie that makes me feel and look ridiculous. That's what you're supposed to tell them about.
Well, now, I don't have to because you did. I'm still laughing over the cone, just so you know. You do look pretty funny. But look at that messy paragraph with lots of run-ons and terrible grammar. You see, this is why you shouldn't read a dog's blog. They don't know anything. Like that a cat's suffering is so much worse than a dog's. Wearing that stupid bee costume, for instance, is WAY worse than losing a bit of blood. It musses up my hair, so I have to bathe myself for a half hour. Come on, priorities, Twixie.
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