Everyone at My House is a Jerk

The Butcher–still making fun of me for Silver Bullet-ing my story.

The dog–woke me up at some ungodly hour so she could go stand under a bush in the front yard while I yelled at her to come back in the house. Now she’s back to sleep.

The new kitty–I was trying to count out 212 small afghan squares while this asshole laid right down in the middle of my pile and began to fling squares around until it exhausted her and she had to fall asleep, again, right in the middle of my squares, which I was trying to count. Jerk.

The orange cat–No new jerky behavior, but I swear, every time you’re petting him, and he’s totally into it, eventually he’s like “And now I’ll bite you.” What a fucker! You came up to me. You asked to be petted. And I get bit? I should bite him back.

Me–The Butcher announced that he’s going to the Titans game and I said “Oh, fun. You’ll be easy to see on TV, since you’ll be the only person in the stands.” and “Oh, maybe they’ll get you and [his friend] great seats and a bunch of puppets to sit with so that it’s not so terrible looking when they get accidental crowd shots.”

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