There is nothing worse than getting up before the alarm clock.
Unless you are getting up before the alarm clock because your geriatric cat has decided It Is Time.
Ten beautiful minutes of boy-is-he-yummy dreaming interrupted by "Me--OWWWW" "MEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWW" "MEEEOWWW"
Not since James Brown has there been a more effective use of the sound "owwww".
Surely there are air sirens more pleasant to listen to than my motherf**king cat.
(He channels James Brown, I channel Samuel Jackson. Too early to drop the f-bomb? I think not.)
"Kill it," I hear Mr W mutter, muffled under his pillow.
"You're the one with the weapons," I remind him as I go to see what the cat needs.
Pillow? Blanket? Blow up kittykat doll?
Stick of dynamite?
I'd do it, but I don't want to have to clean it up.