The roles in our home are clear and well-defined. Stephan vacuums; takes care of the cats*, car, and finances; and makes blueberry waffles on Saturday mornings. I cook most things, clean most things, and do the laundry.
Kittens, your jobs are very simple:
One: Look cute.
Two: Rush to meet me at the door, when I get home from work, as though a single second more of life outside of my presence is more heartache than your tiny little hearts of cold, cold stone could ever hope to bear.
Kittens, no one came to greet me when I got home today. You remained all curled up together on the couch, where you remained for a good two hours and where, okay, you did manage to look cute, blinking up at me groggily when I dared interrupt your nap.
But then, kittens, you fell asleep again, only this time with your eyes half open. Which is the creepiest thing ever, your creepy little eyeballs rapid-eye moving under your creepy little third eyelids.
So step up, kittens: less being creepy, more eating lettuce. Like normal.
*Not like takes care of.
2 Comments
Very, very funny.
I tried to take a picture of the creepiness, but the camera noise kept waking them up. I did think of just taking a picture of them awake and passing it off as them sleeping with their eyes open because you can’t really tell the difference.
Except for the creepy twitching.