The cat, determined that I will never see my "pet deposit" for this apartment again, has been, let's just say, "burning the candle at both ends" in her efforts to destroy the carpet.
Last night, I came from work to find some kitty barf on the carpet. (I don't really object to this. I mean, she's a cat, she barfs. It's what they do. And I've been out of her regular anti-hairball treats, so have been using a less efficient brand. Note to self: go to Petco on the way home from work.) So, anyway, here's me, on my hands and knees cleaning the cat barf stain ...
... and the cat jumps on my back.
Why not? Nice flat surface, right? She's centered quite perfectly, so I can't reach her. And I can't just lean to the side to shake her off without getting claws dug into my flesh.
That's right. I'm cleaning up her puke, and she's taking the opportunity to sit on me.
For the first time in my life, I have used the term "pwned."
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