After a long days work spent bending my brain with questions of punctuation and prose, I really look forward to coming home to my cozy little one bedroom apartment. It’s humble and cluttered and has a balcony from which I can rest and relax as I watch palm trees and ginkos sway in the breeze.

And I’m wasting away again in Margaritaville.

My loyal readers may remember the 4 years I spent living in the projects. By the projects I mean government-sponsored student housing. By government-sponsored student housing I mean 10 X 12 rooms made of cinder block, smelling of mold and the b.o. of previous inhabitants, furnished with cheap pine desks hand crafted by the artisans of Cell Block A in the South Central Virginia State Penitentary.

Yes, those were the days.

So I get home today, pull in the drive, get out the car, put my key in the lock, and what’s the first thing I see when I open the door? My little baby Bella Donna Bad Girl looking up at me with, what I call, Bedroom Eyes.

Bedroom Eyes are the sleepy eyes she gives me when trying to convince me to do things like give her a kitty neck massage. With lowered lids she peers up to me, waiting, expectant.

So I get home and she’s giving my bedroom eyes. And I’m like “that’s so sweet.” And then she opens her precious little mouth…

and lets out the most ugly, blood curdling yowl known to man.

I mean It sounded like Bella was strangling a turkey as she howeled urgrowrurgrowrurgrowr!

She continued for five minutes to trail me around the house going urgrowrurgrowrurgrowrurgrowr, all the while swatting my ankles while throwing in an occasional chomp on my toes.

And this is solace that I came home to after a long day. She’s a monster, but she’s my little monster with a turkey in her throat and mischief on her mind.

Can’t wait to get up, go to work and come home tomorrow.

File this under: My Baaad Ass Kitty

Am The Worst At Blogging. I feel like I should be giving myself a little lecture and slap on the tush regarding my slothlike blogging habits of late.

Regardless, as Popi says guilt is not for me, guilt is for my cat.

…Now, I’m not entirely sure what that means, except I shouldn’t feel bad about being a lazy banana slug.

Speaking of my cat, her name is Bella after the Italian word for “beautiful.” And she is very beautiful with her little white feet and sleek black torso. She has pretty green eyes with little black slivers for pupils and her tongue is fun because it’s all bumpy and weird looking.

It is with her tongue, or rather the breath attached to it, that I am often awoken from a sweet sleepy dream. You see, Belladonna, as well as being a lady of great beauty, is also a lady of great breath – stank breath, that is.

I’ve never met an animal with chronic halitosis before. Well, that’s not true… I am engaged to Angelface… I kid, I kid!

Bella consistently has the worst breath I have ever smelled. I mean, no kidding, her breath could knock the fleas off a dog and the flies off dog crap.

Of course, it is only when I’m sleeping or being leisurely that miss Bella wants to grace me with her fantastic vapors. At these blissful times she must position herself an inch from my left nostril so that she can open wide like an alligator and let loose a blood- curdling full-on breathy “Meeeow!”

But that’s not the worst way she wakes me. Her most recent early – morning antics have included, but are not limited to: a hostile takeover of my pillow, a loud crash coming from the kitchen, a rousing claws-out pounce on my delicate tootsies, and uninvited and suspiciously wet cranial and facial massages.

It was recently discovered that the source of the water from said massages, I am sad to say, is our toilet bowl. We are no longer free to leave the lid up, as Miss Bella has decided to use the porcelain throne as her personal splash mountain.

Speaking of which, she has disappeared from my sight… This is not a good sign. Must go chase my water baby. Pics next time…. Can’t find Photoshop CD at this ‘mo…