This morning, I woke up with a cat on my chest.

This happens fairly often as the cat seems to find my ribcage the most comfortable place in the house. I’m not too happy about this, but the daughter loves the cat, so it gets a pass on most of it’s behavior by me.

The most annoying thing, to me, is the cat’s desire for milk.

See, there’s this cat nursing reflex; when a cat is contented, it tends to knead with it’s forepaws- it’s apparently a mechanisim that makes the mother produce milk.

So far, cooney has tried to make mil;k come out of my ass, my hip, my shoulder, the arm of the couch, a My Size barbie doll, a 1967 Land Rover 109, and the carpet in the spare room.

This morning, though, I saw the ultimate. I let the idiot outside, and he immediately began to try to make the milk spurt out of the concrete. hell, I’d be even more surprised than if it came spurting out of my ass.

And then, I came back in the house, and saw the cat laing on a rectangle of sunshine on the kitchen floor.

What?

The idiot, whose desired position is on the far side of any door he happens to encounter, had done an end run and gotten into the house throught he open garage door before me.

Where do these dysfunctional pets come from, anmd how do I end up with them?