BJ is wonderful. He's cute and furry and he always wants hugs. He's really the perfect feline companion; if I lived alone, I'd probably dress him up in fancy suits and take him out to dinner with me. (In other news, it will forever be a mystery why I'm not single.)
Of course, he does have his problems. He can be annoying in many ways, but since you all get such a kick out of me talking about farts, I'll share something that happened to me last night.
See, BJ sleeps on my pillow next to my face. (And you can already see where this is heading.) Usually I curl up to him and he puts his paws around my neck and we snore in unison. While I mentioned before that I sometimes blame farts on him, I didn't say that he does fart occasionally. And when I say "fart," I mean that he blows the roof off of our apartment. It's terrible. It's like living with a skunk one day out of the month.
He has never interrupted my slumber by flatulating on my face though. That is, until last night.
Last night, I woke up at 3 a.m. thinking someone had tossed a stink bomb through our window. Quickly realizing the smell was coming from my cat, I shoved him off delicately enough to avoid waking Gideon. I should note that BJ was not sleeping and stared at me as if to say, "What you gon' do bout it?"
He was not fazed after I pushed him off the bed. He even came back five minutes later and tried to sleep next to me, thinking I'd let him back in my good graces after waking up due to his flatulence. He acted like, because he is so cute and cuddly, I'd just forget that he had expelled gas directly into my left nostril less than 10 minutes earlier.
And of course he was right. He's too cute to reject.
I am going to be such a pushover when I have children.
No comments:
Post a Comment