I named my kitten Rose - fur soft as a petal, claws sharper than thorns. ~Astrid Alauda

I have a problem.

Her name is Chica.

I have a small potted rose plant on my living room coffee table (thanks to my Aunt Bev). Chica's taken a liking to its leaves. Apparently they taste good. Or at least look good enough to eat. A tiny part of me is hoping she'll bite down on a thorn and that would stop her from jumping up onto the coffee table and nibbling on my plant.

Have I mentioned before that I'm a vengeful person?

I have a potted mum plant. On the floor. She hasn't touched it. It must not be as enticing.

This morning, after spraying her with water for being on the coffee table, I turned my back for 2 seconds and she was on top of my computer cart, fighting with Elvis. First words out of my mouth? "God Blessed, Chica! I'm going to kill you!" I'm sure my neighbors think I'm a whack job. At least I'll fit in.

Two weeks ago, I thought Chica had lost her jumping ability. She was acting weird and wouldn't jump onto the couch. Apparently, that was just a ruse to make me lift her because she's fat & lazy. She's fully capable, now, of jumping onto anything.

Maybe she's restless. Maybe I am, too. Because she's going to drive me crazy.

Anybody want a balding, fat cat that likes to eat plants?

I'll keep Elvis, thanks. He's apparently "normal" and doesn't seem at all interested in dining on plants.