I have the world’s most overly-attached little stalker of a cat. Oh, and well, he’s actually not so little, either.
He isn’t often allowed into the computer room, because of his tendency to rub up against everything as he tries to build up a static charge so that he can electrofuckulate you.
Or rather, me.
So, since the computer room is often where I am, and as I mentioned, he’s a stalker, he frequently sits right outside the door and waits for me to exit, so that he can follow me wherever it is I’m going, whether that’s to my bedroom, or to the toilet.
I spend an awful lot of time working (or playing) in Photoshop, and sometimes, I really get quite enthused with whatever it is I’m doing. So much so that I’ll ignore little distractions like the need to pee.
That’s a distraction that you can only ignore for so long.
On one such occasion, I was very nearly finished with a project, and ridiculously excited about how it was progressing. I just couldn’t wait to put the finishing touches on it. I got that first little notification from my bladder that it was approaching maximum capacity at just the wrong time. Just a few more brush strokes, so close… must finish!
When I was finally satisfied with the project, I just knew I’d delayed a bit too long. I dropped my tablet, and made for the door with my bladder absolutely screaming at me for my foolishness. Right outside my door, waiting for me, was Beau.
I hurried to the bathroom with my cat right on my heels, quite literally. I nearly tripped over him as I rushed in and closed the door behind me. I undid my button and dropped trou as quickly as humanly possible, and this is where one of us, I’m not sure which, maybe both, made a fatal mistake.
Beau had positioned himself behind my legs, in front of the base of the toilet. I dropped my jeans right on his head, and of course, he moved out from under them. As I bent to sit on the toilet, I put just a tiny bit too much pressure on my overloaded bladder, and unfortunately, a slight trickle escaped.
My poor cat. He was in just the wrong place at just the wrong time, and that little trickle… it landed right on his head. You can imagine his disgust and irritation.
To add insult to injury, naturally he had to have a bath.
On the up side, he was honestly the most well-behaved cat for about a week.
As most of the world probably knows, the legal drinking age throughout the United States is 21. We can vote, and die for our country at the tender age of 18, but heaven forbid we should have even the mildest of alcoholic beverage.
Once upon a time, I was a reasonably well-behaved Mormon girl. I didn’t partake of caffeinated drinks (coffee, soda), I never touched tea (sadly), didn’t smoke, and certainly never did drugs. (Well, okay, I tried pot, but it just made me giddy and giggly). Definitely, no alcohol, even experimentally. I didn’t particularly have an interest…
Just before I turned twenty-one, one of my oldest, dearest friends, Kevin, asked me to come and visit him, as after high school we’d landed in neighbouring states. We decided that I’d come for the week surrounding my twenty-first birthday. My birthday is in February, and his twenty-first had just passed in December. So, even though he didn’t necessarily mention it prior to me loading up my little Chevy Beretta and heading for Missouri, Kevin thought that it would be just the thing to go out drinking that weekend.
Imagine my surprise.