14 April 2012
Story #518
R. Linda:
Well, well, well, St. Patrick's Day came late for the cat population. There I was this morning, in me jammies and slippers, walking into me loft to read the newspaper with me cuppa joe in hand. And even in my state of not being fully awake, I noticed me slippers making strange noises like I was walking on Cheerios. I looked down, and there was catnip spread from one end of the loft to the other. And what did I find? THIS:
"Well, one of us had a fun night," I said, looking at the druggie sprawled out on the daybed. "Too much to handle or just a drug-induced hangover?"
He said notta thing. He just lay there like he didn't care about anything, nooo, not a care in the world. I looked around me.
"You gonna clean this mess up, I hope? Because I'm not." I said, putting me coffee down and sitting at the desk, flipping open the newspaper. I looked over, and he hadn't moved. "Are you alive over there, or barely here? I gotta tell ya, you've been bad, and I know you know that. Wait until your mother sees this," I said, meaning Tonya, who I knew would have a fit.
She had just bought the catnip glutton 0.5 ounces of the good stuff (this in addition to a large jar of the not-so-good stuff he reluctantly rolls around in on occasion). She calls the good stuff his Colombian Gold. And, well, the entire package was emptied, and most of it was GONE!
"I wonder if you can get up," I said, ribbing him, but he was still staring at nothing, not paying attention to my sarcasm. "Oh, that's right, you CAN'T get up!" I laughed.
I got up to see just how much was left in the bag, and suddenly, the old junkie came to life as if I was about to grab his stash or what was left of it.
Yup, here we are with the evidence. Look at us. You can see he is almost sick of himself from the overindulgence of the night before, the silly thing. But that doesn't mean he's giving it up, either.
Eee-yah. Pick the bag up, and he would bite me fingers. So I left him there to inhale it while he could. I went to breakfast and informed the wife of the miscreant's wild and crazy night. She wasn't pleased. When I returned, he had found his usual stash in the plastic bottle and got that down, too! I tell ya, I thought he'd had enough, and now he had got down his emergency stash. I guess it's the hair of the dog or, in this case, the hair of the cat?
Yup, he was caught right-pawed in the act of trying to roll around the jar to get the top off so he could further indulge his piggy self and probably overdose.
I think it's time for rehab, I really do.
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
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| ZONKERED |
"Well, one of us had a fun night," I said, looking at the druggie sprawled out on the daybed. "Too much to handle or just a drug-induced hangover?"
He said notta thing. He just lay there like he didn't care about anything, nooo, not a care in the world. I looked around me.
"You gonna clean this mess up, I hope? Because I'm not." I said, putting me coffee down and sitting at the desk, flipping open the newspaper. I looked over, and he hadn't moved. "Are you alive over there, or barely here? I gotta tell ya, you've been bad, and I know you know that. Wait until your mother sees this," I said, meaning Tonya, who I knew would have a fit.
She had just bought the catnip glutton 0.5 ounces of the good stuff (this in addition to a large jar of the not-so-good stuff he reluctantly rolls around in on occasion). She calls the good stuff his Colombian Gold. And, well, the entire package was emptied, and most of it was GONE!
"I wonder if you can get up," I said, ribbing him, but he was still staring at nothing, not paying attention to my sarcasm. "Oh, that's right, you CAN'T get up!" I laughed.
I got up to see just how much was left in the bag, and suddenly, the old junkie came to life as if I was about to grab his stash or what was left of it.
Eee-yah. Pick the bag up, and he would bite me fingers. So I left him there to inhale it while he could. I went to breakfast and informed the wife of the miscreant's wild and crazy night. She wasn't pleased. When I returned, he had found his usual stash in the plastic bottle and got that down, too! I tell ya, I thought he'd had enough, and now he had got down his emergency stash. I guess it's the hair of the dog or, in this case, the hair of the cat?
I think it's time for rehab, I really do.
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| It is now 3:15, and this—Do Not Disturb—Cat On Drugs—enter at your own risk! |
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| It is 3:30, and well, another fix is in session. Along with a good showing of the whitey tighties |
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| This is just SAD |
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
lol dats my kinda cat
ReplyDeleteLMAO
ReplyDeleteDoesn't the cat experience kinda remind you of something?
THINK BROWNIES!LOL
I can't imagine what you are referring to UNLESS it has to do with an art show so many years ago, THAT be a haze in me memory. LOL
Deleteso how's Mr. Kits now? is he still zoned or has sobriety found him? I want an update
ReplyDeleteIt is what it is. ;+(
DeleteLOL One nip too many!
ReplyDeleteI'd like to say he's resting comfortably, BUT he's still at it! And how embarrassing is this, his whitie tighties are showing for the world to see. It is what 2:25? And he's still at it.
ReplyDeletehi!,I really like your writing very much!
ReplyDelete