So OMS ventured home to pet the folks' cat for the night.
I maybe morphed into my alter ego and played a few tunes. Had the house to myself, no neighbors downstairs arguing over American Idol. Figured I'd experiment with the ol' vocal range.
But the cat, all aflutter with love when I walked in and fed him the wet food and let him shed all over my stylin' and profilin' suit, had other ideas.
He turned on me. Quickly. Sure, love me when I feed you some of my scrumptious ham dinner, but turn on me when I need positive reinforcement and groupie love.
"Meow," he said when I wrapped up the first set. The meow was more of an, "Eh," and then he walked away.
Whatevs, cat. Whateffingevs.
Oh. And now he's back with the purring and staninf in fronittog the montior amnd oh with the hitting my fingers while I type. Sure. Love me when I'm blogging.
Whatevs, cat.
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3 comments:
I thought you were allergic.
Shots. They work wonders.
And now back to OMS in the bathroom at work...
Nice fella: Any exciting plans for the weekend?
OMS: Nah.
NF: I might go to Philly.
OMS: I might build an ark -- you know, Nor'easter and all.
NF: Shouldn't be that bad. If it does rain, might be good to just stay inside and read a book.
OMS: (thinking to himself) Yeah, or get absolutely sh*tfaced.
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