Furry Little Bugger

I have yet to find an orgasmically perfect arrangement for the living room. In an attempt to find this, I moved the “couch” (so quotefingered because it is infact a twin bed with big pillows on it) away from the big front window. Jrob and I attempted to move the buffet hutch thing, but it’s going to take TWO dudes instead of a dude and my weak ass. Oh well.

Anywho, I’m leaving my drug dealer’s office today when my phone rings. It’s Scott from The Alarm Company, calling to tell me that he had an alert coming from my house and “is everything OK?” “Uh…what? I don’t know…I’m not there…” “Should we have the police come out?” “Well, yeah.”

And just last night I had a dream where I went to Cool Spring Galleria to buy Red Bull and a blue wig, only to come back to my car to find it stripped and my laptop stolen. I start having flashes of the last time I was robbed. Every time I would leave the house, I would feel like something horrible was happening and I wasn’t there to stop it.

I speed home and find a cop car in my driveway…the front door undisturbed…and Mr. Puss sitting on the window sill. All at once, the pictures of my front door being kicked in were replaced with what probably happened:

Finding the “couch” on the other side of the room, Murphy was without a place to lie and bask in the sun. He jumped onto the window sill, found it uncomfortable, and jumped down. The shower curtain that’s still covering the front window flapped. The motion detector went off. The shit storm ensued.

Needless to say, I have now moved the “couch” back in front of the window and made a mental note to get blinds that will anchor to the bottom of the window frame so as to not flap. Thou shalt not disobey the will of Mr. Puss. Thou shalt leave Mr. Puss’s seat where Mr. Puss wants it.

Furry little bugger.

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