You are getting sleepy. You... are no longer a cat. You are a bagel.
Opie will turn 5 sometime this April. In cat years, I think that makes him...an asshole? At least some rebellious, ungrateful teenager that has abandonment issues from being adopted rather than appreciating us taking him into our home to not be made into a kitty pot pie! It's enough to make me yell, "I'm the only mother you've ever known!" at him, but that would be a little crazy.
Last night he hopped up on the desk and tried to play with my arm fat while I was on the computer chatting with Dom (who is in Virginia currently). It wiggles just right to make the perfect teaser toy, I guess, because he was grappling at my jigglies with his claws and biting me.
Then he goes and stays out ALL NIGHT with his good-for-nothing, hoodlum, teenage cat friends breaking into neighbors' trashcans and stealing leftover tuna salad. Wasn't terribly surprised when he woke me up this morning pounding on the back door to be let in. I was surprised that he knocked over my flower box in an angsty rage for not "understanding" him.
So I started my day at 7 a.m. replanting the bulbs of my miraculously resilient Paper Whites in my ducky pajama pants. And Opie is crashed out on the sofa getting hair all over my clean laundry. Why can't he get a part-time job like most teenagers?
And to think that the Egyptians worshiped these animals?