I slayed a couple of cockroaches over the weekend, and I'm feeling STRONG! This freak I live with has "mixed feeings" about my accomplishment, though. She says that although she's happy that I'm here to do what she could never do, she also feels sorry for the cockroaches. "It's not their fault I live here," she says.
The other day, when her boyfriend was here, he was doing something that required him to move my window seat (she calls it a "dresser", but she leaves the top bare so I can sit on it and look out the window, so it really is a window seat) (it would be nice if she'd accommodate me a little better, though, and attach some sort of cushion to it), and when he did so, they discovered three dead roaches whose corpses had been under there for who knows how long. I thought my mom was going to throw up. She ran for paper towel, and then stood there looking like she didn't know what to do. These were clearly not my conquests, so I didn't tiptoe over to claim them or receive the praise she heaps on me for a job well done.
She stood there with select-a-size paper towel in her hand, turning all shades of green (which isn't that hard to do, given her olive complexion!), and then said to her boyfriend, "I'm sorry, but would mew be able to get rid of them? I'm going to throw up. I am SO going to throw up." Such drama! And they call me the pussy? Meow!
Anyway, this all reminded me of something she wrote about me almost seven years ago, which I think mew would enjoy: No Contest.
P.S. I hope mew all had a great weekend! I napped a lot! We all spooned! My mom said it would've been cute if her boyfriend was curled around her, then she was curled around me, and then I was curled around a cockroach. But of course she talks a big game, given what I've just told mew about her squeamishness!