heartsong: (Ignore Brain)
[personal profile] heartsong
When my cats knead my legs (or chest, or face) I'm pretty sure they're tenderizing me. That way when I die, crazy and alone, I'll be tastier. Or something.

I'm also fairly certain that, considering the number of times they've tried to trip me while I'm getting out of the shower, they're already plotting my death. They just have to work out how to get out of the apartment once I'm dead.

If my keys ever go missing and they figure out what the funny knob on the door thing is, then I might start worrying. Just a little.

Please note that this is a giant distraction from my novel and I really wish I could work forcibly around irrational trains of thought. It isn't good for my work ethic. Since I'm on the topic, I would also like to say that Benedict Cumberbatch is absolutely horrible for my work ethic too. His voice melts my brain and turns my knees into play dough. This note has now turned into another distraction.

Damn.




affffggghsafdgs. ♥
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Nicole

May 2011

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