what’s this big grey thing?
she calls it “regulating my crazy”. i call it straight up medieval torture.
ok, ok, so i tend to run amok when left alone at home for an extended period of time… or even a minute. yes, i ate a couch, and they had to tie a rope around the fridge after i helped myself to thanksgiving leftovers a few years ago, and there may have been an incident where i tried to force my way through a solid door (listen, you didn’t hear what i heard out in the hall, you’d have freaked the fuck out too). and it’s true, i’m convinced that when you leave anything plastic, shiny, smelly, or otherwise interesting on a surface under my jump height it’s an open invitation for me to help myself — you’re not the only one that likes sunflower seeds!
i thought you liked cleaning up after me though (what with the yelling and running around, you’d think we were going to a parade) — brought a bit of zen detachment to your life too, right? so what the hell with locking me in a box whenever you leave, HUH?!
we are not friends today.
