Welcome to Wild Kingdom
There are six animals in my house.
Some think other animals are food options. (Busch looks longingly at Cocoa (dog/guinea pig))
Some think Mom has betrayed them by letting STRANGERS near their precious litter box.
Some think everyone needs to shut the fuck up and take a nap. (Nap is Sheba’s answer to any problem.)
ST is in Alabama for the week. He left Friday. Let’s not discuss the fact that I miss him. Instead, I will sum up missing him with this dialog snippet:
Me: I miss you. I think we need to break up. This is icky.
Him: It feels weird doesn’t it? Like something’s not right.
Me: I…I just can’t take it. What the hell is this feeling??
Him: I don’t know babe. I just don’t know.
On top of the dog, ST has a small black cat. She and I have a strange relationship in that I named her. Before we met, he just called her “cat”. I just couldn’t do that. Pets have names, and she needed one. It felt extremely presumptuous, but I asked if I could call her by a real name. I started calling her Celeste. That’s her name now, and she answers to it. She’s become much more social since her christening.
In the beginning, it was a relief to date another pet owner. And when I let Busch fall asleep on my lap after date #4? I knew I was golden.
But my place? WAY TOO FUCKING SMALL for all these animals. I’ve coped by margarita for the weekend, but a girl has to be sober for class. And I’m out of tequila.