Saturday night catblogging: The sign of having no life

[sabotabby]

Sore throat? Check.
Fever? Check.
Urge to be home on a Saturday night even though my meeting wrapped up early? Check.

Oh fuck. I'm sick, aren't I?

---

In weird news, I got a mass e-mail about boycotting France from my mom's friend. I didn't even know she had my address, let alone that she'd be so stupid as to fall for chain letters. It was rather offensive, containing a gratuitous diss against "the Arab countries" who export "just oil and hatred," and I did consider responding, but I figured it wasn't worth my while.

---

I also feel the need to mention that Marinetti was meowing in his sleep—so loudly that he woke himself up—and that his breath smells like centipede.

Speaking of the devil:










Mr. Orange caught a car.


I guess I woke him up.

(I do have a life, by the way. I was doing culture all day—I saw Hosanna and checked out an old friend's art show. I'd recommend seeing both, but Heather's show is over tomorrow, so you're out of luck there.)

Comments

[profane-stencil.livejournal.com]

his breath smells like centipede
Is that an improvement? With at least one of our cats, I'd be relieved to get a whiff of dead insects when he opens his mouth.

[sabotabby]

It's worse than normal cat breath. I haven't changed his food or anything, so I've narrowed it down to centipede, which is the only other thing he's been eating.