Please understand, it's not that I don't know how entertaining and emotionally satisfying it is to knock things off counters. I get that watching them fall and hearing the clatter they make when they hit the floor (especially LOUD things like the hair dryer) is nothing short of true bliss.
I also can get behind the idea that you are unable to resist sneak attacking the drawstring pants of the person who has come to investigate the aforementioned loud clatter (though your panic when your tooth got tangled in the frayed threads was a touch overdone).
And I know it's your mission in life to keep the dogs in line and that can only be accomplished through wrestling and other acts of physical domination.
I understand and appreciate all of your efforts to keep this household on its toes but here's the thing:
NOT AT FIVE-THIRTY ON A SUNDAY MORNING!
But in honor of the season and your ceaseless attempts to spread your version of sunshine through our lives (and since I'm up anyway) I have composed this little poem for you:
Twas Early One Sunday
Twas early one Sunday and all through the house
My kitty was prowling but not after a mouse.
Things had been scattered on the counters—who’d dare?
In hopes that they might get knocked into the air.
The dogs were asleep at the foot of the bed
While visions of milkbones danc’d in their heads.
Opie was snoring but I could still sleep
Until into the bathroom our cat he did creep.
In the next instant there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Into the hallway I flew like a flash,
Tripped on a dog toy and stepped on spilled trash.
The light from my iPhone glowed onto the floor
And the ridiculous cat who peered round the door.
And what did my wondering eyes then see?
The craziest of cats lunging for me.
He swatted at my bare toes, caught his teeth on my pants
And didn’t give a hoot about my threats and my rants.
He showed me the mess that he’d made with such joy
As if I should say “Great cat!” and “Good boy!”
He’d knocked the hair dryer clear cross the room
(Which was, I knew then, the source of the boom).
He’d knocked over hair spray, had a brush on the floor
“I’m not even done!” He said as he ran out the door.
Down to the living room to wrestle the dog
I stumbled after them both, still in a fog.
The flick of two tails, loud meows and shrill barks
Helped me to find them down in the dark.
They spoke not a word, just kept at their work
Convincing me I’d spoiled these creatures like a big jerk
Then laying my hands on the side of each head
Said “You better shut up or I swear you’re both dead!”
They sprang to the couch, and got all cuddled up
My ridiculous cat and rotten young pup.
And I had to exclaim, as I witnessed this sight
“Is it too much to ask, that I sleep one whole night?!”
At this point, the only gift these ridiculous animals are going to get from me this Christmas is life.
|What do you mean you're trying to sleep?|