Chewing the Cud

It's a packing day. I've got an urge to follow that sentence with a rollicking round of expletives, but for the modesty of the reader, I will refrain.

See how you influence me?

I'm running out of excuses and time, but I've got a kitten in my lap so I don't care. I'm not stupid. I know she's just using me to get at both my frosty can of Diet Dr. Pepper and Louie. Speaking of killing two birds at once, would anyone like a slightly broken parakeet? Come on faceless void, he's free. We are unable to take him with us to the Emerald City, and besides, the kitten wants to eat him. Being constantly regarded as prey doesn't do much for a parakeet's self-esteem. Apparently.

There's only two weeks until the moving van arrives. I've got to buy specialized boxes for packing martini, wine, and margarita glasses because I'm too lazy to wrap each one individually and our collection of dishes is alcohol themed.

I just checked and U-Haul is open for business, so now I've got so few excuses I'm in the red. Except there's still the kitten factor, weighing me down with her soft fur. She tried to attack a solicitor through the screen door last night. It was an older man, selling steaks out of his van or something, and she started pawing at the door and crying at him to go away. She's not particularly fearsome, but I appreciated the effort.

Maybe she's one of those ninja kittens I've been hearing so much about. Stealth *is* one of her skills...