Ghost-of-a-Chance
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Thank goodness it’s hotter than Satan’s taint outside right now, because we haven’t had windows open in months. The last thing I need is our neighbors wondering why I just shrieked, “Hallotoesis!”
Heiferlump, our clingy senior cat with stanky breath, is a weirdo who does weird things. In this case, she curled up under our blankets unnoticed, waited until we were in bed and dozing off, then licked my toe without warning. The media never shows this side of being owned by a cat.
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My corgi sidles up under my computer chair, waits until I’m thoroughly engrossed in something, and licks my ankles. It is the shriek heard ‘round the neighborhood.
And yes, in the case of the corgi, it is definitely a taste test.
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In the words of some rando I’ve never met, “I won’t mind my cat eating my corpse when I die. I just mind that she isn’t waiting.” Heifer, alas, isn’t even willing to wait for me to completely fall asleep before seeing if I’m adequately seasoned. 🤨
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By the way, proof that I married the right man: the instant Cold heard what I yelled, he grumbled, “Cat gotcher toes?” This was then followed by, “Good job, Heff,” and telling me, “Kick ‘er in the head.”
I did not, in fact, kick her in the head. I reached down to the foot of the bed, pinched his ankle, dragged Heifer up by the belly, and used her as a living barrier between my nose and her dad’s breath. She didn’t seem to mind, nipple-stomping aside.
