"something smells rotten on the carpeting" or "morning sickness"
Current mood: somber, silly
i am a bad pet owner and, very possibly, a bad person.
The other day, after a fair amount of whiskey, I saw my beloved tarantula, Milificent, scratching at the side of her cage like a sad puppy with two many arms and opted to let her crawl on me as she has done many times before. I thought nothing of it as she went across my back and went about my business of killing time, picking up a free weight. After about a minute Tania got out of the shower and, on her way from the bathroom to her room neglected to mention that I'd taken Millie out (as people tend to do when I have a nearly fist-sized arachnid on my back. Still, I thought little of it.
I went into the bathroom, wiping the steamed mirror with my sleeve to see where she had gotten and...she was gone.
I was drunk! I didn't know what to do! I had let one of my roommate's greatest fears loose in the house!
Tania, Matt and I shined flashlights under every conceivable surface, into every shadowed crevice, hoping to unearth it before Kyle and Nate returned from the liquor store. We failed and bedlam ensued. Raised voices and leaping onto furniture.
In what would ultimately ring of defeat, a death knell for Millie, we left to go to Dave's birthday party on 16th, where I would drink myself depressed, eat pork rinds and play punching games. I would never see her again.
I cannot say the same for Rudigger, our grey shorthair. Described by my father as 'too big for a cat, too small for a puma', he was previously thought to be afraid of large insects, but left many telltale clues the next morning.
First, he refused one of his two tricks: answering to Tania's beck and call. Instead of answering to his name he bit at our feet and looked up suspiciously at us all day long. Whenever we entered a room we'd been absent awhile, we'd find weird, softserve shit and vomit with strange lumps.
The whole day long, perhaps the length of the feline digestive tract, Rudigger seemed guilty and on edge.
It is with this in mind I lay judgment upon him. He is a murderer plain and simple and I am no better.
We are sad sick ilk but of course all we're guilty of is abetting the food chain.
I melodramaticize, the pet store is only a half hour away, if I can trust myself, but I still may never know what havoc i've wraught.
In fact today, licking his lips, our other cat Ipkus sat eyeing at the foot of th frog's cage
i am a bad pet owner and, very possibly, a bad person.
The other day, after a fair amount of whiskey, I saw my beloved tarantula, Milificent, scratching at the side of her cage like a sad puppy with two many arms and opted to let her crawl on me as she has done many times before. I thought nothing of it as she went across my back and went about my business of killing time, picking up a free weight. After about a minute Tania got out of the shower and, on her way from the bathroom to her room neglected to mention that I'd taken Millie out (as people tend to do when I have a nearly fist-sized arachnid on my back. Still, I thought little of it.
I went into the bathroom, wiping the steamed mirror with my sleeve to see where she had gotten and...she was gone.
I was drunk! I didn't know what to do! I had let one of my roommate's greatest fears loose in the house!
Tania, Matt and I shined flashlights under every conceivable surface, into every shadowed crevice, hoping to unearth it before Kyle and Nate returned from the liquor store. We failed and bedlam ensued. Raised voices and leaping onto furniture.
In what would ultimately ring of defeat, a death knell for Millie, we left to go to Dave's birthday party on 16th, where I would drink myself depressed, eat pork rinds and play punching games. I would never see her again.
I cannot say the same for Rudigger, our grey shorthair. Described by my father as 'too big for a cat, too small for a puma', he was previously thought to be afraid of large insects, but left many telltale clues the next morning.
First, he refused one of his two tricks: answering to Tania's beck and call. Instead of answering to his name he bit at our feet and looked up suspiciously at us all day long. Whenever we entered a room we'd been absent awhile, we'd find weird, softserve shit and vomit with strange lumps.
The whole day long, perhaps the length of the feline digestive tract, Rudigger seemed guilty and on edge.
It is with this in mind I lay judgment upon him. He is a murderer plain and simple and I am no better.
We are sad sick ilk but of course all we're guilty of is abetting the food chain.
I melodramaticize, the pet store is only a half hour away, if I can trust myself, but I still may never know what havoc i've wraught.
In fact today, licking his lips, our other cat Ipkus sat eyeing at the foot of th frog's cage
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