Okay, we all know the kitten is whacked. Seriously whacked. I mean, she likes to swim. Now I'm convinced that my whole *Kitten is the antichrist* entry from a while back is more accurate than I care to admit. She's developed a new regimen of human torture and is getting quite experienced at it.
For example, she now expresses love with love bites. Cute, right? Not at freaking 5 am it isn't! Every night, I am awakened by the sensation of tiny teeth piercing my skin in the dark. *Purr, purr, purr, chomp, chomp, chomp.* Barring throwing the little thing at the wall (which has crossed my mind) there really isn't a way to break her of the habit.
Her favorite sleeping place? The laptop--when I'm working on it. The mouse pad -- when I'm working on the desktop. The bathtub ---empty, full, or not. The cutting board when she thinks I'm not looking.
THE WASHING MACHINE. Barely avoided a nasty series of events there.
So now here I am trying to meet these vicious deadlines, and I have a kitten swinging from my ankle. Literally. I'm sitting in a chair with my legs crossed and she is swinging from the claws and teeth embedded into sweats, socks, and skin.
Nice kitty. Does this mean that Armageddon is going to happen in the kitchen?
Oh, and by the way, I like this template better. Pink is SOOOOOOOOO not me. *grin*