May 10, 2013

Hooman Deformity

I got an earful the other day when I was pretending to sleep...and was actually eavesdropping on a conversation between my pawrents.

I guess this is a good time to say, pals... Sometimes its better not to know things about your pawrents. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Sometimes pals... eavesdropping does not pay.

I mean, how can you un-hear something once you've heard it?

The conversation had something to do with my Mom having a deformity. Mom said maybe she was typing too much. Dad laughed and said, you were born that way!

OMC!

As I understand it, my pawrents got their fingers printed at a police station. I am not sure what that means. My girl, Belle, asked if they'd robbed a convenience store. My bestie Phi tried to Google mug shots but came up empty. My best mancat Niss said to check their ankles for iron shackles. I didn't see any.

Then, while pretending to nap in her loft above the refrigerator, my sisfur Gidget heard Dad say he wanted to get a concealed weapon permit before our government destroys our Second Amendment.

Concealed weapon? Like...claws when we retract them after shredding leather sofa?

Or when old man Buddy has BM? I've heard Mom refer to his poop as a lethal weapon.

I still don't know what weapon...but according to Gidget, when Mom got her fingers printed, the detective said she barely had any fingerprints!

In fact, her application got rejected. So she had to go back for second try. And her fingers were rejected again!

Rejected! A word not appreciated by a writer like my Mom.

So there you have it. My Mom haz a hooman deformity.

I don't really care as long as she doesn't require fingerprints to open cans of toona.

Don't Mess Wif Me!