Food Slave has been puttering around the back door a lot lately, the one through which I like to threaten the lives of ONS cats, birds, and the occasional squirrel. He's nailed on weatherstripping, sprayed some kind of foamy stuff I'm not supposed to eat in the cracks, sprayed nasty tasting orange "ant-b-gone" in the cracks... It's like his favorite new place to hang out. Seems he's on this quest to stop the ants from coming into the house. Nevermind that they're kind of fun to chase when I'm in the mood and they really don't bother Big D and myself at all. Nope, he's decided it's just not good to have ants in the house.
While I appreciate his affection for hanging out in that particular spot, because I like to hang out there as well, I'm not so sure I appreciate his latest effort at combatting the ants.
How are the small humans supposed to get out the back door and fill up the bird bath so Big D and I can yell at birds? How is Food Slave supposed to go on the back porch and grill delicious meat that Typing Slave then sneaks and feeds me under the table while telling the kids, "DO NOT FEED THE CATS"?
Humans, right? They just don't think ahead.
Sincerely,
Meankitty
www.meankitty.com *
www.jodywallace.com
1 comment:
I don't know if it's true but someone once told me that sprinkling cinnamon on the ground works. Supposedly it burns their bodies.
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