Fetch Me Some More Chai, Kitty

So I am sitting here at my new job, when I get an e-mail from a random person saying, “Hi, I’m your Very Important Boss’ friend, and I would like to take you to lunch. Would today work for you?”

And I write back, all blasé, “Well, I suppose. I am a little busy. It’s not like I’m sitting here in my very own office writing on my personal blog, or anything.”

Then I take a satisfied gulp of decaffeinated chai and SLOOSH, out it spills, all over my pale green shirt and (what else) my white pants. So I have just returned from the bathroom, and now I look like I’ve wet myself, on top of sporting the scent eau de starting-to-get-stale chai, for the rest of the day. I’m sure I’ll make a great first impression.

I blame Tatum.

Mostly because he spent the whole night fetching this piece of plastic that you have to tear off of the milk jugs that we have delivered every week. (I SO have a real milk box and milkman. Are you jealous?) For whatever reason, the softness of the plastic, the round, slightly mouse-esque shape, the bounce-ability factor, whatever, Tatum enjoys retrieving these things when there are no faux mice readily available. Now last night I was trying to sleep, and Tatum fetched one of these milk things and it landed on my face and I remember thinking, “This is not good, you should remove it,” and then thinking, “But I am SLEEPING” so I didn’t, and paid the price of one googly-eyed kitty pouncing on my eyeball.

That sucked.

So Tatum got the boot, and I hid the plastic thing under my pillow, which is often my solution for making his nocturnally fetched objects disappear. When I wake up in the morning I usually look under my pillow, because often there is a surprise, since I have become so good at confiscating fetchable crap mid-sleep. I have found hair ties, collar stays, string, pieces of Christmas trees, straws, leaves, and a mish-mash of other stuff.

So anyway. Tatum spent part of the night trying to play fetch with this thing, and pawing at my pillow because he is not always as dumb as he looks. This morning I rolled over, and the plastic thing poked out from under my pillow and Tatum pounced on that thing like a 13-year-old on a PlayStation. There was no sleeping in for me, Tatum was all, “Play!PLAY!PLAY!” So I finally conceded his victory, threw it a couple times, and began my morning routine.

Eventually I needed counter space in the bathroom, and Tatum would not give it to me, because Being in the Way is pretty much his favorite game ever. Besides fetch. So I hunted around for the plastic thing and threw it for him, and I swear that cat rolled his eyes and was like, “Bitch, please. I get a mouse in the morning. Now could you hurry it up?”

So I am currently hating Tatum. And I blame him entirely for the current state of my shirt and pants.