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I’ve had a feline overlord for the past few years now. My Most Gracious Queen Molly accepts me as her humble servant and, now and then, even allows my my lap the honor of being her temporary resting place.
The only problem is that she hates my daughter. I only get to see her (my kid) on the weekends, and the other house is (Og forbid!)a *dog * :eek: house, so she comes over smelling like, well, dogs. Not to my inferior nose have you, but to Most Gracious Queen Molly, she must smell like Lassie cubed. Hisses, claw swipes, the works.
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So, I decided to get my little girl her own cute, cuddly little 6-week old kitty of her own. She even got to pick it out herself. It was precious She wanted to name it immediately, but I told her to hold off and observe his personality and give him an appropriate name.
That was two weeks ago. His name is now “Einstein”, with a nickname of “Little Boy”. (Think Hiroshima).
He has destroyed my house three times over. No, really. Here is a picture of my living room:
His favorite hobby is to climb up the top of a baker’s rack that holds precious family photos. There he waits for an unsuspecing soul to pass by, then takes a Great Flying Leap (scraping the ceiling on his way down) to pounce on said soul. Needless to say, the off-balance-as-it-is bakers rack (full of precious family heirlooms and the like) teeters for a few seconds before coming crashing down.
Og forbid if Most Gracious Queen Molly is the unsuspecting soul. All kinds of hilarity ensues at that point.
I’ve rebuilt over the devastation that was my home three times over.
My question is, when does feline homicide become temporary insanity in the eyes of a jury?
My cats wuv me berry much because I smell like mice and I’m really good at catching them.
