It's a good thing she's pretty.

My mom's cat is a bitch. A cute, loving, demanding little bitch.

When I arose this morning to make my mom her breakfast, it wasn't long until her loving little Hop-a-Long (the cat only has three legs) came to join me in the kitchen. At first she sat quietly by my feet as I cut up a cantaloupe. When I didn't realize that this meant she needed to be fed, she made her displeasure known rather loudly. Fine, alright. Cat's like to meow when they want something. No big deal.

After eating her fill (which was really only about two bites) she ran over to the basement door and started scratching to her hearts content. "I want to play in the basement," her eyes said to me. Fine. I'll open the basement door for you. She ran down the stairs and I could hear her just tearing around down there. For only having three legs, this little fireball sure does get around.

At some point, she quietly reentered the kitchen and went about trying to look out the floor length windows that overlooked the backyard. She was thwarted, however, by the fact that I had yet to raise the blinds. Determined, she let her intentions be known by pawing, head-butting, and then simply sticking her nose through the blinds. At first I was simply amused, but then the clanging of the blinds was too much. "Fine," I exclaimed. "I'll open the damn blinds."

Apparently this cat has a set routine and doesn't like for it to be changed.

Umm... did I just write a blog posting about a cat? Damn... I need to get home to Brit Boy soon.