Sailor here.
We have been invaded by lemmings. Well, actually the spirit of lemmings. Lemmings, according to Zoe (who is an arctic breed and knows about such things), throw themselves off cliffs. The spirits of these lemmings have possessed our house. No, our house hasn't thrown itself off cliffs, just everything else.
This morning, Mom was fixing pancakes. The pancake box did a lemming off the end of the counter. I sniffed it, but it wasn't much interesting. MUCH more interesting were the eggs. I like lemming splats with eggs. And Mom didn’t disappoint me.
"Lick, Sailor," Mom said, and I licked. And crunched. And licked again.
Mom says next time she will use the counter with the berm, not the counter with the straight drop-off. I disagree. I much prefer the marble counter with the drop to the bottom. It's yummy potential is high.
While I was hanging out under the marble counter, Mom went downstairs to the laundry room and lemminged the laundry out of the dryer and into the basket. Then she tripped coming back up the stairs and lemminged herself bump to the bottom. She landed on top of the laundry. While the laundry was washing itself again, it got unbalanced and the sashaying of the washer lemminged the dog towels off the shelf.
Giving up on laundry, Mom then decided to take down the Christmas tree and, yup, lemmings struck again. Fortunately, because of Zoe and Josie the FatCat, all our ornaments are soft and bouncy, not hard and shattery. But Mom says she is still waiting for the Retrieve light bulb to go off in my brain so I can help the put the lemming stuff away. My brain bulb is staying stubbornly dim.
Mom says that gravity is just strong today, and that's why the lemmings have invaded our house, why her jeans are too tight, and why she had trouble Ah-erging Zoe onto the grooming table.
Mom also says she wants to take Zoe and me for a long walk after breakfast, but NO WAY! I am not going to go, no sir, no. I am staying safe. Indoors.
This morning, Mom was fixing pancakes. The pancake box did a lemming off the end of the counter. I sniffed it, but it wasn't much interesting. MUCH more interesting were the eggs. I like lemming splats with eggs. And Mom didn’t disappoint me.
"Lick, Sailor," Mom said, and I licked. And crunched. And licked again.
Mom says next time she will use the counter with the berm, not the counter with the straight drop-off. I disagree. I much prefer the marble counter with the drop to the bottom. It's yummy potential is high.
While I was hanging out under the marble counter, Mom went downstairs to the laundry room and lemminged the laundry out of the dryer and into the basket. Then she tripped coming back up the stairs and lemminged herself bump to the bottom. She landed on top of the laundry. While the laundry was washing itself again, it got unbalanced and the sashaying of the washer lemminged the dog towels off the shelf.
Giving up on laundry, Mom then decided to take down the Christmas tree and, yup, lemmings struck again. Fortunately, because of Zoe and Josie the FatCat, all our ornaments are soft and bouncy, not hard and shattery. But Mom says she is still waiting for the Retrieve light bulb to go off in my brain so I can help the put the lemming stuff away. My brain bulb is staying stubbornly dim.
Mom says that gravity is just strong today, and that's why the lemmings have invaded our house, why her jeans are too tight, and why she had trouble Ah-erging Zoe onto the grooming table.
Mom also says she wants to take Zoe and me for a long walk after breakfast, but NO WAY! I am not going to go, no sir, no. I am staying safe. Indoors.
No comments:
Post a Comment