The Terrible Twos

Squoosh is into *everything*. All at once. When I got home from work today, I had to re-kittenproof the bathroom, 'cos he'd learnt how to jump onto the counters while I was gone today. I need to quit feeding him Science Diet and Iams...his brain seems to be developing just fine. Maybe *too* fine. Everyday it's something new anymore.

So I let him run around the house (he was alternately chasing and being chased by my measles--only they *mean* it, and he doesn't), and I cleared off (as much as possible) the counters. Now I have nowhere to put this stuff, but I figure that when I get him back out of storage, he'll be out of this phase of being into everything, and sticking freaking everything in his mouth and trying to eat it, so I can put it all back. I hope.

He literally puts everything in his mouth and tries to eat it. I've never had another cat do this, and it's driving me nutso. I can't baby-proof the whole house! Sigh.

Frickin' dental floss eater.

I'm mostly worried that he'll do something like knock off one of my bottles of perfume and hurt himself on the broken glass. Yes, I have too much crap; it's spilled out of my bedroom in to my bathroom, and then out of my bathroom into Squoosh's bathroom, but it's too late to change that now.

(small fugue)
I can't believe it, but in the online triv game I'm playing, the (anagram) answer was Dahl All Day (long story for the question), and someone in there commented, "Roald Dahl Allday has the most interesting things to say". Slay me completely! And I'd here just commented about no one remembering Book of Love! Too funny!

Ok...back to Squoosh. Or my makeup, perfumes, and jewellery rather. So I'm a consumer. Shoot me. I've nowhere to put a boxload of this crap now, and it's only a matter of time before he discovers the shelving my mother so kindly erected last year! Sigh. I hope he grows out of this whilst in storage. Please. I fed him in the hopes that he won't be a Squoosh on Fire after he eats. ::fingers crossed::

I just love the little pig noises he makes. :-) And it's quiet in there now. Should I be afraid?

I'd love to go into Eviljob, but I have something funnier that no one will care about. :-) My mother at the last second decided to go up and be with Meg--like literally day before yesterday, and I didn't believe her that she was going. Well, so much for that--she got in late yesterday night. So today she decided that she wanted to play craps. Now my mother doesn't actually *play* craps--she just likes to roll. No, really. She can't bet for shit. But sometimes she goes on these monster rolls, and Meg says that tonight she did just that--she rolled for like twenty minutes. Of course, that made her happy. And of course, Meg had to drag her away from the table to go eat.

So Meg says she drags her--all but literally. And there's a waiting list at the restaurant, so mi madre wants to go back to the table and play whilst waiting. Meg gives in because well, what else can they do? Sit and stare? Okay--so back at the table, my beloved mother positions herself so that she can roll next (did I mention that she only likes rolling?). When her turn comes, she rolls and gets her point (the number she has to re-roll to win). Her next roll bounces off of the side wall and pops a guy right in the forehead. She re-rolls. This one bounces off the side and pegs one of the bases. So the Mommy of Doom rolls *again*.

This one hits the sideboard and careens off into Parts Unknown. No, really. They didn't find one of them.

Someone politely suggests Mummers should stop throwing like a certain overexcited little midget cat (okay, okay--it was Meg). So she rolls again.

She rolls a seven.

Pouting, mommy suggests they go back and wait in the bar by the restaurant.

Giggle.

And I'm wishing Meg a lot of luck tonight, 'cos after dinner she's going (or actually, by now she is there) into a private game. I know she doesn't like those--she feels intimidated. Poor Meg. And my mother as I type is probably back at the slots (Meg and I call her a lab rat when she plays them).