I woke up with a raging headache. The cat is gently preparing to throw up somewhere near my bed, and I hope,briefly and probably in vain, that I don't step in it on my way downstairs.
I've been lying in bed, planning a cartoon where a horse with my face is straining to pull a fully loaded wagon up a steep hill and the driver, who has the face of the night city editor, has decided to flog me to make me reach the top of the hill by X o'clock, which I know is not going to happen because I am working so furiously I don't even have time to glance at Big Ben.
Then the cat, apparently emptied of its last meal (pre-poop, in my parlance; in this case, pre-puke) jumps on my back and uses it for a springboard (oof!) to the half-wall's top, where he proceeds to sharpen his claws on a beam.
"Keep it up," I growl, "and I'll have you declawed."
I shuffle to the loo, sit down, and as I start to pee, realize the toilet paper that I tossed up here into the loft last night is still across the room where it landed.
So my day begins. The headache is still raging.
No comments:
Post a Comment