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Its my fault, really, but I love the idea of kicking the cat in frustration of my favorite chair being used as his bathroom/scratching post.
My sister was sposed to come to my house, water the plants, take in the mail and feed Hector. All good, right? Wrong. Seems that my nephew, her son, got into a knife fight at school, nailed the other kid in the shoulder and is now getting cited for juvie assault and getting home schooled.
That left Hector with no food for three days and having to fend for himself for water from the fish tank. I get home to an apartment absolutely reeking of cat piss and scurvy-smelling cat droppings from an overused litter box.
Hector also took it upon his kitty self to chew at the palm leaves of the corner plant in the living room, broke a Franklin Mint figurine my mother gave me when I was twelve and managed to get into the fridgehence the scurvy-smelling cat box, since his leavings there made it possible for him to use my chair as a piss venue.
Not having opposable thumbs didnt curtail Hector, oh, no. He hooked his claws underneath the fridge door, pulled it open, and the roast I planned for my boyfriend and me now had teeth marks in the packaging and in the meat. His Im so glad to see you! purrs as he wove himself between my legs while I stare at the mess in total amazement doesnt work with me.
My Euro stuffed Donald Duck, along with stuffed nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie get swatted at the tabby. He darts in the bathroom.
Bloody hell, I was only gone a week! Hes going to the kennel for my vacaa three week cruise to Alaska.