Sometimes the ugly comes out in The Viking and it’s not pleasant AT ALL! It’s so ugly I want to bury his battle axe in his back. And to make matters worse, his weapon is the fucking cat! I think he crouches out in the kitchen giggling to himself as Izzie goes to work.
It starts with a single claw picking at my pillow. That bloody sound tears through the interesting half sleep dream I’m having. Pick. Pick. Pick. Pick!
“Stop IT!” I growl and blindly swing my arm around. Was that a Hee-Hee from the kitchen?
In quick succession: pick pick pick. “STOP IT!” I swing an arm again.
Tee Hee Hee
I hear her jump off the bed and my mind drifts back into my dream. Lick. Lick. Lick.
Holy Fuck her tongue is rough! “DOOOON’T!”
She jumps off the bed but my eyes barely close when she charges from the hallway, up on the bed, over my hip, up my arm, bounces off the headboard to the top of my head and then streaks off the bed again. It was like being molested for 2.6 seconds.
“What. The. Fuck!!! Gawd! Worse alarm clock EVER!!”
Hee Haw Haw
In the meantime, Izzie has stalked her way up on the bed again and slithers beside my body. Her eyes are completely black.
“I’m not playing! I’m SLEEPING!”
She edges closer to my face. Dammit!! I’m actually going to have to get out of bed. What is it with people in this house that they take pleasure in forcing me to leave my mattress? I would never do that to them. I would close the door and let them sleep undisturbed by a bite prone kitten. But I’m a decent person, I guess……….UNLIKE EVERY OTHER FUCKHEAD AROUND HERE!
How is a person supposed to enjoy the Depression they’ve been wallowing in for the past three weeks? Sleeping is the ONLY joy to be had out of Depression and The Viking is NOT COOPERATING!
Fine! I’ll get up, but I’m going to give you my “You-fucking-woke-me-up-from-the-best-dream-ever” scowl for the rest of your life. I throw the covers over the cat and get out of bed. In the kitchen I get a mug for coffee – the only consolation prize for being forced vertical – and when I turn to open the fridge for some cream I see The Viking’s slave outside the window.
“What?” The Viking asks while he finishes a couple fist pumps in his Victory Dance and tries to keep the evil smugness from his face.
“It’s the Slave! And now I can’t have coffee in my underpants and a tank top! Is everyone in on this travesty?”
“It’s nine o’clock.”
“Bahh!” As I stomp down the hallway to get dressed.
“We have work to do.”
“You can’t sleep your life away.”
The laughing in the kitchen gets cut off as he closes the back door. Bastard. He comes in a bit later to find me furiously banging the keyboard to write this post.
“Oh! Writing about Izzie waking you up?”
“She was only doing what I was afraid to do.” He says that as he’s walking down the hallway. Out of range.
“I kno-ow!” I shout after him. I’m not stupid.
Where is that damned battle axe when I want it? And I’m going to have to learn how to throw it – accurately. Maybe life won’t be so fucking fun when an axe flies past his head and buries itself in the side of the refrigerator.