Guest Blog: Siah Steps In.
I'm not sure why I'm even letting her do this, but she asked like a million times. So here is a guest blog from Ms. Siah Sausage.
* * *
I'm not as bad as she makes me out to be. I'm a little gray cat and I barely cause any trouble at all, so I'm not sure why she's always complaining about me.
Sure, I like to use the litter box and then attempt to snuggle with her, but I'm just as shocked as you are that she doesn't want to appreciate my olfactory contributions. Every scent I make is lovely, I assure you.
And of course I have to pad around the bed while they're trying to sleep. But how am I supposed to know which side of the bed is softest and comfiest unless I try both out, repeatedly? She's just grumpy because she goes to bed late and gets up early. It's not my fault. I just lay there, against her ankles, forcing her to sleep like she's the Vitruvian Man. (I looked that up.)
Yes, there's also some truth to her issues with me stalking her in the bathroom. But that's just fun for me.
Also, this whole "the cat ate my pump tubing" complaint is just plain silly. I am a cat. If something plastic and bouncy dangles in front of my face, I will go after it. Instinct, people! I haz them. Besides, insulin has a nice, chewy band aid sort of taste to it. Same goes for playing with and hiding test strips. Toys are toys - I don't care if they have your DNA on them. (Yes, I also looked up "DNA." I may be a cat but I can use Google.)
The plain truth is this: She loves me. When people aren't looking, she picks me up and snuggles me. She balances used test strips on my head and laughs at how I walk around without knocking them off. She talks to me when Chris isn't home, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was on the verge of issuing a commemorative plate in my honor.
So don't listen to her rantings about what a pain I am.
The woman thinks I'm my own pajamas.
* * *
I don't even know what to say.