So here we go with a brand new Thursday on our plates. The guest cat is no longer the guest cat. I ended up adopting her fully. So now she will no longer be called “guest cat”.

Her name is Mackenzie.

Sure sometimes she is also known as:

• Retarded Ninja Cat
• Furry sausage
• Gah!
• Boo (Every cat everywhere is known as Boo to me, however. All of them.)
• Monstro the Destroyer
• Ragamuffin
• Ownostopit
• Furry criminal
• Nuggethead

Anyway, me and ‘Kenzie get along just wonderfully, mostly. When I’m writing she will sometimes decide to be about three and pull things down, knock things over and cause a lot of stuff near me to distract me until I play with her. She gets four chances from the first time I stop her. Then she gets locked in the bedroom for an hour.

When she comes out she howls, bemoaning how evil I am, literally going to town with the volume and pain in her voice. Oh, so mean. Oh, so torturous. Oh, how could I?

She wants to be no where but my lap, which is fine unless I’m typing, because then you see she is in my lap but the hands have to be used for petting. If not? They are head butted and so is the keyboard.

She just generally doesn’t understand hands. If they aren’t used to pet her, why are they there? This becomes a topic of discussion at about 4am every night. She’s up. She wants petting. Why shouldn’t she paw at my arms and head butt me until I wake up enough to pet her? Where’s the harm?