Disgruntlement in the Dunes
GAH! Cats all up in my frying pan.
That’s not a euphemism for anything and I’ve locked the little pecker-heads in the basement.
It could be worse. I had a rescue from the mean streets of Saginaw. Marsallis would wait until we turned our backs then jump up on the stove, stick his head in the pan while the fire was up and the bacon sizzling and then he’d make off straight to the tub with his kitty booty.
R.I.P., Marsallis. He died of natural causes. No, seriously. He did.