Chica has become just as odd as Elvis.
Last night, while I was on my 3rd pot of coffee and my 500th trip to the bathroom, Chica was laying directly in the doorway to the bathroom. Can't make it easy for me to go, can she? Doesn't she know not to mess with a coffee drinker who has a small bladder?
No. She does not.
Because she was directly in my path the very next time.
And the time after that.
And the final time before bed? She was actually laying ON the closed toilet.
That's when I started to worry.
What does she know that I don't? What was she trying to prevent-- either me from doing or from something happening to me? Was she worried if I peed one more time, I might flood the apartment? Was there something in the toilet, like a bug for example, that she was protecting me from? Was she annoyed that the toilet was getting more attention from me than she was? Was there a ghost in the bathroom only she could see?
Who the hell knows.
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1 comment:
Why can't I post a comment on your other blog? It's so frustrating. This one made me laugh. Love you.
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