Einstein

Don't ever get a human. It's just not worth it.

If you thought this was bad, wait till you hear what happened today.

I should have known better than to be happy when Curiosa announced she was going to the "puddy store" to buy some "puddy food." After all, as we learned last time, don't mess with the food. And I thought she was just going to come back with what she said she was going to buy, that is, kitten food.

Problem is, Curiosa, being a typical female and all, never does exactly what she says she is going to do. Technically, she DID buy the food, but she didn't bring it home.

The first time.

The first time she came home bearing gifts. There were some new metal food bowls, a new litter box with a lid, a couple of cans of stinky goodness (especially for little kitties), a pom pom, and even a little mouse. (Pssssssshhhh...as if one little 99 cent mouse is going to placate me...)

She also came home with a bag. A giant red vinyl bag with a zipper on it. It looked like she was planning to go bowling.

I should have known better.

She unzipped the giant red bag and of course I investigated it. It was carpeted inside, and actually kind of nice!

But before I knew it, she zipped me into it!! and said we were going back to the pet store to pick up the rest of the kitty food.

EXCUSE ME? DID YOU SAY WE? WE ARE GOING TO THE PET STORE? WHAT'S THIS WE BUSINESS? SURELY YOU MEAN YOU ARE GOING BACK TO THE PET STORE, RIGHT?

No, she actually did mean WE.

So out the door we went, with me slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatos. Let me tell you, of all the undignified things.....It was like I was nothing but a mere accessory. Sniff sniff.

I digress. DID I MENTION SHE TOOK ME TO THE PET STORE IN A PURSE?

There were cars, and woofies, and people, and more cars, and more woofies, and more people. It was way too much for a very little kitty (after all, I am just a baby) to take in all at once.

We got the damn food, and then headed home. And then there were even more cars, more woofies, and more people. I started to cry very loudly. HELP ME! HELP ME!

Curiosa kept saying that it's good to practice being in the bag. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN PRACTICE? PRACTICE FOR WHAT? NOTHING WE NEED TO DO INVOLVES PRACTICING, OF ANY KIND. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, CURIOSA, START A KITTY BASEBALL TEAM?

Finally...after what seemed like FOREVER...I mean like ages and ages...like a whole millenium or something...we got home. On the way in the outside door, Curiosa sniffed and announced that it smelled like one of the woofies had done his thing.

How very wrong she was.

Yeah, that's right. That smell didn't come from no woofie.

I pooped in the purse. And then I peed in the purse.

That'll show her, I thought. Boo-yaa, take that.

I was wrong. So very, very wrong.

Not only did she decide to give the purse a bath, she decided to give me a bath while she was at it. First of all, the bathroom was dark, because the light bulb burned out over the weekend and Curiosa has decided she's a vampire and doesn't like light anyway, so she hadn't changed it yet. (Or rather, she hadn't gone to the store to get the bulbs she needed).

So now she has a pissy, poopy, angry cat in a dark bathroom. So she locks me in the bathroom, runs to the bedroom and steals the bulb from the night light, and comes back into the dark bathroom. So picture this: Curiosa, who knows by now that if I have to take a bath, she is going to take a bath, stripped down to her underwear, trying to change a lightbulb in a dark bathroom, cracking the bathroom door open enough so she can get some light from the hallway, all the while trying to keep a pissy, poopy, angry cat from escaping.

That image would make me laugh, that is, if I weren't the pissy, poopy, angry cat in question.

I'll save you the gory details of the ensuing battle, but suffice it to say that at one point Curiosa was wearing me like a hat. A Cat Hat. More stylish than that purse at least.

So, I got wet, she got wet, the bathroom got wet, and I think the ceiling even got wet.

It couldn't possibly get any worse, right?

Wrong again. So very, very wrong.

Turns out, I hadn't quite finished doing what I needed to do in the purse, but Curiosa wasn't going to let a wet cat streak around the rest of the apartment.

So her solution to this dilemma was to clean out the litter boxes and then fill one of them with fresh kitty litter (clay sand, mind you) and then lock it into the bathroom with me.

Yeah, cause it takes a genius to figure out that a wet cat and clay sand make a PERFECT combination. A wet cat plus clay sand that is supposed to clump together when it gets wet. Oh yeah, and a wet long-haired cat at that.

So now she's waiting for me to do what I need to do in the box so she can remove it in order to give me another bath to get the clumpy sand out of my fur.

Hmmmmpf. We'll see who lasts the longest.