The cats are a bunch of babies.

Whenever a stranger comes over to the house, or for that matter, even my mother, who comes over at least once a week, the cats freak. Especially men. You’d think that all humans were killing machines ready to crush them into cat food. Moosh Moosh, I kinda understand, someone threw him out of a car when he was a kitten. Taco, he’s been around good people since he was born. This leads me to the conclusion that they are both just big babies.

 

So when the boyfriend’s 6-foot bazillion cousin came to visit the other night, I expected a scene of panic. I was somewhat proud of them, though, they didn’t hide in the closet.

 

We will wait here until further notice.

Watching and waiting.

 

Frankly, I’m amazed that they behaved as well as they did. They did, however, scramble for cover when I got a ladder out last night to silence a dying smoke alarm. The boyfriend was out of town last night and this is the second one that has died while he was out of town, leaving me to deal with the overly stupid process of turning off the circuit, replacing the battery, turning the circuit back on and then testing. I had to call my mommy over because I had visions of me falling off the ladder, not to be discovered for days. I have a good mommy. You’re never to old to need yours!

 

I wonder if the cats would have gotten hungry enough to eat me? Ew, why did I think that?

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