According to my husband, this is the conversation that our cats had yesterday.
Chucky: Dude, you are totally not going to believe what I did this morning.
Latke: Chased that boy out of his own room?
Chucky: Better. Are you ready? I pooped on the garage floor.
Latke: Get out! What did they do?
Chucky: Nothing! It was about 5:30 a.m. and I went upstairs to tell that grouchy one I wanted to go outside…
Latke: The one with the bad roots?
Latke: She really should take care of those. No wonder she can’t find a job.
Chucky: Totally. So, as I was saying, I tell her I want to go out and when she comes downstairs she doesn’t open the door like I’ve politely asked, she throws me in the garage!
Latke: That is just rude!
Chucky: And I’ve got to go, right? So I just leave a big pile right in front of her car.
Latke: Then what?
Chucky: Well, a little while later she opens the door and I go in and eat my breakfast.
Latke: So, the garage is totally open for pooping now?
Chucky: You got it.
It’s us, but in dead animal form. But not really dead because they weren’t ever alive. Undead? No. That makes them sound like vampires. So not that. Fuck. I don’t know the word. Hey, how long can a title be? Because this seems excessive. Someone should stop me. Jesus. This is as bad as 280-character twitter.
1 day ago