No More Mr. Brown Eye!!

For the love of Christ, please look at this invention on Etsy that my roommate showed me. She's ordering two for her dog.

How embarrassing that you have to get a hand-crafted asshole cover from your owner just to be worthy or her love. Every time I look at this thing I can't handle it.... funniest... invention... ever.

LOOK AT HOW JOLLY THIS GIRL IS:

REAR GEAR!!

IT GETS BETTER!

MY FAVORITE:

Seriously, I don't know if I can handle this. I hope the person who's making these is laughing her ass off at every order. And why didn't I think of this? Clearly, I'm a fool/need to be more bothered by the sight of my pets' poo holes.

News Flash: I'm never escaping my house.

...and the cat scratched Lucy's eyeball this morning which commenced Operation Drive to the Vet in Manassas in Six Feet of Unplowed Snow to Save the Eyeball.

Drama-fest...

Meanwhile, I'll be sitting here, contemplating suicide and reading my new books, French Women Don't Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano (clearly I will not be following Ms. Guiliano's advice/tips for eating more Frenchy--blizzards = guilt-free brownie sesh, duh) and The Hazing Reader edited by Hank Nuwer (I may haze myself if it comes down to it. Meh.).

FOUND CAT! and yes, it's still snowing, eff my life.

So about a week ago I get a text message from my lovely roomie Emily that we were harboring a cat in the laundry room. I was at work and clearly a message like this got me excited. What kind of cat? What color? Wild? Tame? Could he/she please live with us forever and join our animal kingdom of crazy?

Fast forward four hours--I'm at home--there it is! A cat! In our house!

le kitty chat!

Bad News: Emily hates cats.

Good News: she's too nice to dump it back outside where it came from, crawling up to the door with a smile on its face knowing it had picked the perfect townhouse of suckers to live cozily with pre-epic snow blizzard 2010.

So anyway, now we have this cat who doesn't belong to us but to someone else around here because she came sporting a yellow nylon collar with a bell that she obvi didn't craft herself. Classy, yes. Crafty/opposable thumbs, no.

Sigh.

So, if anyone recognizes said cat, fess up. Although she's currently being pumped full of overpriced Science Diet kitty chow + wet food + hand-picked grass because she kept trying to eat my plants/looked like she wanted to barf, she needs to go to her legitimate home. Stat.

Lucy--the original queen of the house--would appreciate it.

Like mother, like daughter, Lucy hates cats, too.

Double sigh.