The Terrible Toys

Mean CatToys, toys, toys.  That’s all they ever want.  I offer to take them to the park, to the museum, on the trains, and all they want are more toys.  Then when I finally cave and give them these expensive, ornate toys, they treat them like garbage!  Leave them all over the house, the yard, the car.  It’s getting to that point that I’m finding toys in the toilet and my hamper.  I sleep surrounded by toys, their cheap dyes and synthetic furs grinding into my down comforter and giving me an uncomfortable itchy feeling when I wake up in the morning.  I spent a third of my disposable income on toys last month, which is a totally separate expense from their food or school or daycare.  I ate cereal for dinner three days last week after Hyde had a temper tantrum and needed THREE new toys to calm him down.  I know my mom said that adopting that family of stray cats would be expensive, but this is truly getting out of control.  They aren’t even grateful.  I had a dream the other night about burning the entire pile of toys in the garage  and making them all watch, silently, as the smell of plastic and rubber melting roared through the garage until we couldn’t take it anymore.  When I woke up this morning Jekyll was staring at me ominously, like he knew exactly what had been going on in my head.  Then he ripped the head off his latest toy and left the room.

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This entry was posted in Animals, Character, Competition, Family, Relationships. Bookmark the permalink.

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