Moments ago, there was a loud crash. And thrashing. And a furry grey cat wigging the fuck out. Because Rooster was having a death match with J's alarm clock.
It started innocently enough. She was pacing on the bed. Making "step off bitch" gestures at his night stand. Apparently the blinking red numbers on the clock were not respecting her the way that useless grey cats with absolutely no street cred need respecting. And she attacked.
She pulled that thing off the night stand. Swung it around by the cord. Jumped on it. And then kicked it.
She strutted out of here like she just won a knife fight. I do not have the heart to break it to her that it is an inanimate object.
Of course our other cat, Big Kitty has joined a gang. We thought she was going to a good home. She seemed happy. But she has fallen in with a bad crowd. The four of them patrol the neighborhood. Chasing squirrels. Taunting dogs locked in their yards. Skipping around in the flower beds. Nothing but trouble.
I really hope that Rooster doesn't start flipping gang signs out the window.
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