When Esme was little, she stole stuff. To date, here’s a list of items she’s thieved:
- A plastic baggie with a blueberry muffin in it. She dragged it under the bed. I assume she was saving it for later.
Now that she’s older, she can’t be bothered with stealing things. Instead she just plops down on them.
You want this pair of jeans? You’re going to have to get through me first.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “My favourite line from this post… ‘I have to wait until after work to partake in some sugary-rimmed goodness.’ I mean, there is a lot of rimming going on in this one—sugary rims, salty rims, and all before 9pm! Positively blushing.”—thepinkrachel
Ozzy and I have finally reached an understanding in our relationship.
As long as I…
- Pay attention to him 80% of the time, he’ll entertain himself the other 20% of the time.
- Forget to clean the litter box, he’ll clean it for me.
- Give him a treat occasionally after I say, “Drop it,” he’ll drop my stolen undies and socks on command.
- Take him out back first, he won’t make me bag his poo on our walks.
- Let him chase Esme occasionally, he’ll sometimes sit with her quietly.
When Kiefer was gone, Ozzy and I have spent a lot of time together. A lot. Almost too much.
Just when I think I’m about to lose my patience (and my voice), he plops down beside me, puts his head in my lap, and licks my hand.
And then I forgive him for the 5 minutes earlier with him running around the house with undies swinging from his mouth and chanting, “Panties! Glorious panties!” (Yes, Ozzy can talk.)
Favorite Comment From Last Post: There were so many awesome comments on the last post that I can’t pick one. Go read all of them!