So I went to bed last night with a throbbing shoulder from the wasp sting, managed to get comfortable with my book Maisie Dobbs and found a new episode of John Edward's Cross Country to watch and it wasn't long before I drifted off to sleep. I roused long enough to shut the tv off and drop my book on the floor beside the bed before I faded out for the night.
This morning I sat down for a few minutes to read another chapter in my book and discovered that a cat who shall remain unnamed but her initials are Scout had at some point during the night chewed and scratched holes in the edge of the book, leaving her mark for about the first chapter or so. She's fortunate that this was a book bought second hand and not one of the new ones I had purchased last week.
This morning she has been helping me go through stacks of photos and I use the term with the most sarcastic sense possible. I keep scooping her out of the way before my family photos become shredded landfill.
There are days when I seriously consider carting both of the heathen cats off to WalMart and putting them up for adoption. I wouldn't, but one can dream.