Randomtivity OR Let's Make Up Stuff OR I'm Pulling It Out of My Ear (Or Some Other Place)!

Today is Monday (or it was Monday when I started to write it and God only knows what day it is when you're reading it) and the school is having a teacher's workday.  I suspect it's an euphemism for a day of rest from all the holy terrors.  Not that I blame them, of course.  I can vividly picture the teachers now, hanging out at the school having a kegger, showing all the security tapes of the kids doing stuff they shouldn't have done, eating popcorn, and making up funny stories about the worst kid they ever taught.  (Not mine, of course.)

Of course, I don't know what the teachers are really doing,
but it's fun imagining, isn't it?
You do know that's my job, right?

So I called a fellow Mommy and said, "Send your children over.  They'll play and stuff.  I promise I won't take them to a rave and get tattoos."  (Or something like that.  I might have implied something about rainbows and unicorns, but I can't remember.)

I need a Screaming Blue Viking.
Do I really think the teachers are chugging while on
their work day?  No, of course not, but
IT'S FUN IMAGINING STUFF!
Fun!  Fun!  Fun!
Also when drinking a Screaming Blue Viking,
one is obligated to scream, "Valhalla!" before tossing
it back.  (Okay, I'll wait for those of you who are
Googling how to make a Screaming Blue Viking.)

The two visiting girls, Emma and Addie, really had an ulterior motive.  The wanted to see...da da dah...Megaroy.

Megaroy, my daughter's cat, whom I can't seem to NOT blog about, is very popular right now.  (Someone stop me before I blog about the stupid cat again!)  He's loads of material for me and I didn't even want a cat again.  (I wanted a Pygmy Walrus with pink stripes in his mustache.  Or some more beta fish.  Whatever was easier and let us come and go at will.  Hahaha.  I lost that battle.  And guess who the cat spends the most time with.)  (He likes to sit on the laptop's keyboard and make up nonsensical sentences.  Also he's learned to change settings on my computer without having an IT degree.  Why me?)

I know this is out of focus but the cat doesn't know how
to stop moving, especially if you're pointing
a droid at him.  I think he wants to eat it.

Anyhoo.  Girls descended upon the hapless house and things happened.  It wasn't pretty.  I warned the cat.  "Megaroy," I said, sagely.  "I would hide if I were you.  Somewhere deep, dark, and black, and don't come out until you hear the front door slam and a minivan drive away."  The cat just looked at me.

It's been pointed out that I misspelled Willis.
Too bad.  Go drink a Screaming Blue Viking.
You'll forget about the misspelling.

The adoration began.  The cat attempted to flee but, hahaha, he was too late.  It's a fairly small house and three girls, aged 6, 7, and 8, knew how to hunt down a three pound kitten, who really hadn't figured out how to hide except under the bed, which the three girls cottoned to instantly.  (I told him so!)

They took turns carrying him around.  (There was some heated discussion on who got to carry him next.  I kept expecting the cat to make a noise like someone stepped on his tail and then to hear a little girl crying because she discovered what the claws on a cat are really for.)  Surprisingly, the cat took the attention fairly well.  (Megaroy's got a whole "You Shall Worship Me" thing going on.)  He didn't know exactly how to handle it, but he went with it.  (Also surprisingly, the three girls didn't attempt to dress him in doll's clothing, probably because none of them thought of it and I wasn't going to suggest it.  Megaroy knows where I sleep.  Hell, he sleeps where I sleep.)

I retreated into the office to work on other things, whilst keeping an ear open for the protest of an aggrieved feline.  Megaroy is also a fairly quiet cat.  (Hey, we had Siamese cats before and if there is anything those brainless, brown and cream ninny idjits know how to do, it's how to effect a meow in the loudest, most strident fashion possible.)  (I'll never get another Siamese cat again.)  (Seriously, never, ever again.)

I tried to work, but I kept hearing things like this: "You're Mr. Adorable, aren't you?" (that one was repeated until I thought my head would explode) and "You're a little wubbins mubbins hubbins." (Huh?) and "His fur is so soft." and "Hey, where's he going?"  My imagination kept throwing me scenes where I had to do stitches on a little girl's arm, leg, or torso.  (Hey, I could do it.  I know which end of a needle is which.  The pointy end goes in the flesh.  The end with the hole in it...what was I talking about?)

Then I heard three sets of feet tromping down the hall in swift pursuit of a four legged animal scratching off the wood floor.  (We'll see about that scratch resistant sales pitch, won't we?)  It sounded like a herd of maddened elephants ready to launch themselves into a massive hootinanny.  It reminded me of the teachers who were, at that particular moment, likely laughing themselves into a serious need of Depends or Poise, if you read my blog about Whoopi Goldberg.  See here, if you haven't.  (And what's wrong with you that you didn't read my long-winded diatribe on how Whoopi shouldn't be doing pee-catching pad commercials?  Huh?)

How many teachers/educators will call me personally after
I post this blog?  Hmm.

Eventually the girls lost interest in Megaroy, probably because he wasn't diving through a flaming hoop and dancing on a rolling ball and he hauled ass for his kitty castle, where he could observe the birds and squirrels in relative obscurity.  Now he grows a brain cell.  Well, a half of one anyway.