Welcome to Kitty Motel
The Hensley Residence has become a getaway resort for the feline kind. Their jet set owners, drop them off with me to be loved for days to even weeks. Loved is questionable. I do love a good kitty cuddle from time to time, but the neurotic habits have taken a toll on my sanity. Welcome to Kitty Motel.
I played host to my grandparent’s cats for one week. They liked to hide under the stairs and wrap themselves in togas of cobwebs. It was a fashion trend that did not catch on.
A notorious former resident of the Kitty Motel was Monk, the companion of The Spokanite. For two weeks, I had to put up with a face hugger. Not one piece of furniture was left unturned. He was nothing like his namesake, but instead developed the devilish habits of The Rolling Stones hotel incident. Evidence is found engraved in my Dania wood table. Strangely enough, Erika has the same table and the same engraving. The case stands.
Most recently, I’ve admitted two new residents to the Kitty Motel. Please let me introduce you to Elle and Taz, my parent’s cats who will be with me for a month. They only leave the comforts of my bed for the essentials: intake and expulsion, and the occasional mad dash around the house. Apparently I’m not allowed to sleep in my bed. Or sleep at all. They wake me up at 5 a.m. every. single. morning. crying about the normal cat woes like, “Why won’t you run around the house with us? Gosh!” I reply, “You interrupted my dream about The Doctor and time traveling across the universe. Rawr.”
I’ll just keep telling myself: It will get better.