I said in my last post that, as a child, I never went around pronouncing random objects dead. That’s true. However, as an adult, I have my moments.
One night I came home after working 16 hours straight. As I stumbled through my apartment trying to turn lights on I heard a crunch under my feet. Flipping the light switch I quickly examined the remains of one of my cat’s toy balls where the crunch had been. The thing you should know about my cat is that she is very much my little princess. I’m not married and I don’t have children of my know so she is my child. Her name is Gwendolynn Anne Marie Stefanie Collins (no I haven’t been sampling the toxicology specimens).
Normally Gwennie is right by my side when I come home from work but tonight this wasn’t the case. I looked down at the bits of plastic, shrugged and said “Time of death 2330 hours”. Then as I bent down to pick up the plastic bits I looked over and there she was, standing in the doorway of my bedroom with a horrified look on her face. It was as if Gwennie was trying to say to me “Momma. You killed my toy.”
Writing this reminds me….I think I owe her a few more “guilt” toys.
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