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The Bang Bang Theories

What’s Good for the Goose

Well, isn’t that just like me.  I titilate you with new art, new title and the promise of more, more, more and then….I didn’t put out.

I don’t even have an excuse, Reader. Well, I have an excuse, if you consider binge watching Younger on the telly, sleeping too much and playing hours and hours of Blossum Burst on my iPhone an excuse. I guess it’s an excuse, just not a good one. Plus, I’ve been working later in the evening than usual, because I’ve had a lot to do catching up from a few trade shows and I get in at 10:00 a.m. Ahem. So yeah, I could squeeze more hours out of  my day on the front end, and Evening Girl has every intention of doing so, but then Morning Girl disagrees and it’s a huge war and I hate fighting with me.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s get down to Real Bidniz here.

I’ve recently  realized I’m sort of an asshole at times. I know, I know, you can point out a lot of times you think I’m an asshole, Reader, but frankly that’s a tich rude. And hurtful. I mean, we’re friendies or we wouldn’t be here together, am-i-right? So let’s be nice and not point out all the ways I’ve failed you. I can point out my own assholie-ness just fine.

You see, every night I put a nice cuppa water by my nightstand to combat my dry winter house and nighttime thirst, when I just need a little 2 a.m.  sip to wet my whistle. And every single time I put my glass on the nightstand, Kitty Purry sticks her head in to get a drink. I love her, and will kiss her right on her mousetrap, but I don’t want to drink water after she’s had her little pink tongue sloshing around in my glass. I have limits, is what we’ve defined here. I’m not sure why there’s a boundary but there is. It’s just too much tongue for my liking. She licks her butt with that tongue.

I’d got to all sorts of lengths to prevent her drinking my water, including using a water bottle, or covering my glass with a book, etc.

And then the other night I asked myself why I was being such an asshole about it. I mean, if I wake up thirsty at night and need a little sip, and am too lazy/warm/cozy/groggy to get all the way up to go to the kitchen, why would I expect her to do that?? Fair is only fair, right??

So I found a perfect little water glass for her, short to prevent tipping, and wide so she can get her little cat head into it. And now part of our nightly ritual is that I fill up both her glass and my water bottle and put them both on the nightstand. She knows it’s her glass. As soon as I set it down she jumps over and takes a few sips, as if to appreciate my efforts She will get up several times a night and go and get a little sip, and every morning it’s about half way gone.

There I was, depriving her of a simple luxury of nightstand water, for zero reasons. Who says a kitteh isn’t supposed to have a glass of water on the nightstand? No one, that’s who. At least no one who lives at Chez Bang Bang.  Because even though this particular cat has given me not one, not two, but THREE Golden Showers, I still shower her with unconditional love. And cold, refreshing nightstand water. I’m a forgiver.

Tomorrow she has to work, and by “work” I mean put on Easter Bunny ears and pose with mama for our annual Easter pictures. So yeah. I may get my fourth golden shower from her by tomorrow evening. She has a zero tolerance policy when I haven’t met her needs, or have overstepped our cat/mama boundaries.

Alrightie, it’s time for bed because it’s cold-as-eff at Chez Bang Bang as the heat is set on 62 and I’m also an asshole about turning it up. Heat doesn’t grow on trees, after all. I’m pretty sure that’s an olden-days saying.

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