My cat hates me. (Not really, he loves me to bits)

It’s official, months and months of careful affection nurture have come crashing down in a brief but turbulent period of sickness. The Vet said it was a touch of pneumonia, His little adventures would have to come to a close while his body rested and recovered, no more outings to the Barn.
It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the gravity of his situation, he certainly does… But his thirst for adventure will I fear only be quenched by death, never has a saying been more true, Curiosity will indeed kill your cat… If you let it.

So it was with great dismay I discovered him MIA this afternoon, my nieces, bless their sweet little visiting hearts, had deemed that all the doors to the house should remain open at all times… A logical conclusion for a child that has just arrived at her sixth birthday. Happy Birthday Lauren, by the way… I know you won’t see this but happy birthday anyway…Sorry I didn’t show up at the party or get you a present… yet! I was too busy getting annihilated with my good friend Philip, who I might add, has the affections of a certain lady by the name of Lucy, I see a definite future in it for the pair of them, but I digress… It was a logical conclusion for my Nieces to have all of the doors open… They could freely move in and out of the house at any point whenever the whim took them, bad news for my containment of Wilbur however.

I seem to have mislocated my drink now also, I could have sworn I put it on the floor…but now I’m faced with a mystery too complex to solve, defeated at the first by half a dozen or so older drinks of similar origin… Scattered about my room, all of various sizes… The only way to be sure is to test drink every last flat room temperature one of them… A task too great given my current condition, I must chalk this one up as another loss on my already significant “things I’ve managed to lose” list. Still, I need to get my drunk on.

Stop the press… I just thought of the ultimate gunfight, special thanks to Daithi for helping to inspire this…Clint Eastwood vs Charles Bronson, High street at noon.. Pistols… Both in their prime. Eastwood, that tall thin bearded frame that looked as if the wind might blow it away with the dust balls if it were not for the simple fact that Clint is cooler than the wind, so the laws of Physics clearly don’t apply to this man… Standing in the street, facing down Charles Bronson, the man with the Death Wish who cannot die… He’s some kind of native Mexican type… You just can’t tell, It’s like he just crawled out of the Arizona desert as a baby and threatened some poor woman to raise him… Or else. Who would draw first?…Is the fabric of space time strong enough to resist the pull that these two men, standing faced off against each other… I’m not sure… Let us just be thankful such a thing will never occur, found my fuckin drink.

Anyway… Where is my poor sick cat? (I found him shortly after, all is well)

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