Felis catus

Maraca is curled up on my lap. Someone needs to come pour me another cup of coffee, because obviously I am stuck here, indefinitely.

If it were Nigel, I would just stand up. Nigel will wait patiently beside my chair until I come back, and then reclaim his spot. Maraca, though, will freak right out, flee into some far, dark corner of house, and not come out for hours. She is easily traumatized.

And my coffee cup is empty. Tragic! Congress needs to investigate the wide-spread exploitation of humans by our cat overlords.

I can’t believe that I’ve been awake since 7 AM. It’s Saturday! I think I’m supposed to sleep late; it’s a law, or something, right?

We have a thief at work. So far it’s only food, lunches and people’s grocery items, that we know of, but it’s disturbing. Someone whom I know is stealing from their coworkers. It could be anyone. So much of how we function as a society is based upon the honor system, that it twists my brain a little to witness the social contract broken. Not to mention, being a victim. That part kind of pisses me off, actually. Grrr, argh.

I really want another cup of coffee. Maraca does not seem inclined to move. I am so pussy-whipped.

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