He's watching me right now - he's just sitting there smoking a fag and (as if that wasn't bad enough) watching me. It's freaking me out because I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. He's willing me to hurry up and just let him onto the computer already. I don't know if he can read what I'm typing from his side of the room.
If you can read this Boy? STOP WATCHING ME. You know I can't concentrate when you're just ... HOVERING... Go read a book or something. Oh, and while I've got your attention? The kitchen's a midden, and it's your turn to clean it.
I want a laptop. That way he can manage a fake football team to his heart's content, and I can sit on the sofa and write my post from there in comfort, peace and solitude.
We've got the day off tomorrow. We're not doing anything in particular, other than taking Coco to the vet for her booster. This means I have to wrangle her into her box first thing in the morning, which I am not looking forward to - she may only have three functional paws, but she makes good use of em when she's determined.
However, forcing a small unhappy cat into a confined space is much preferable to going in to my office - the tension I mentioned in yesterday's post escalated today into full blown huffs and histrionics, and I SO can't be arsed with that on a Friday. They can fight it out amongst themselves tomorrow, and I'll tune in for the office bitch-fest on Monday...