Yesterday, I came home and started to unlock the side door. Like any good southern house, the main entrance to my home is on the side, in the carport. The front door is reserved for forlorn GOP politicians looking for handouts and the Jehovah's Witnesses. Not at the same time. But yesterday, I came home and, out of habit, looked through the side door window as I unlocked it. Now my side door leads directly into the bedroom. I know that's sort of odd, but this house has no hallways. I suppose they had to put it somewhere since a southern home without a side door can NOT happen. I'm sure there's a law.
I looked through the small window and spotted the cat on my bed. I got pissed. Django was once a hulking Rotweiler. He fell under the thrall of some wicked magician who transmuted him into a large black cat, just to see if he'd still lick himself in public. It worked. One of these days I'll have to install a larger doggie door so his ego won't have to wait in the cold. I don't allow dogs in my bed, nor cats, nor cats who think they are dogs. Nothing against them, I'm simply allergic. Not just a little allergic - very allergic after four years of allergy shots. Some animals affect me worse than others, but this dog inside the cat thing (add a hamster and get some sort of pet store Turducken) works. To a degree. He can't get in my bed or I'll wake up with my eyes and nose glued shut from the inside. I was pissed at him, for being in my bed, and pissed at myself, for leaving the bedroom door open. Except Django wasn't in my bed. This was another cat.
She looked young - probably less than a year. Black with white markings. And...familiar. I'd spotted her around before, around the back of my house or on the front porch, meowing. For her boyfriend. Django. It's Spring. She's in....THEY DID IT IN MY BED!!! AAAAAAAAAH! I burst in, irate incandesent. The girl cat ran for the cat door, and Django...wasn't even in the room. He was laid out on the couch in the next room, enjoying his version of a post-coital smoke, i.e. licking himself.
This is ridiculous - I pay the rent and he gets all the...all the...I can't even say it.
Absinthe Party At The Fly Honey Warehouse
If This Gonna Be That Kinda Party, I'ma Stick My... in the Mashed Potatoes
- Wherein Django makes me into a Garfield Without Garfield cartoon

LOL
2009-03-04 02:07 am (UTC)
I hope you get all the cat, um, dander out of your bed.
*struggling not to snerf so loudly that you can hear me in Alabama*
*hugs*
2009-03-04 02:11 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 03:29 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 11:24 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 02:45 am (UTC)
This reminded me of the golden ... minute of the troupe. haha
2009-03-04 02:51 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 02:55 am (UTC)
** taps foot **
2009-03-04 03:32 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 03:36 am (UTC)
Well maybe the interloper was tired of eating her own food and wanted to check his out instead. She ate and then fell asleep in your bed a la "Goldilocks and the 3 Bears," style.
2009-03-04 03:43 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 02:57 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 03:27 am (UTC)
My house up here in Yankeeland, however, has its door on the side.
I have no comment about the surreality of finding some random cat on your bed.
2009-03-04 10:38 am (UTC)
2009-03-04 11:51 am (UTC)
Bow kitty wow wow
2009-03-04 01:39 pm (UTC)
But maybe there'll be kittehs????
2009-03-04 02:03 pm (UTC)
(The tract-house rambler I grew up in, in 1950s Southern Calif., had a side door. All the houses in that tract had them. Friends and family often entered there, unless a home also had a fenced yard with dog, as ours did.)
2009-03-04 10:00 pm (UTC)
2009-03-05 01:27 am (UTC)
2009-03-05 08:54 pm (UTC)
2009-03-08 01:29 pm (UTC)