Last night I threw together a lovely, fresh veg filled, three course dinner for my new bf and I to enjoy before we headed out for a cocktail at the Green Mill (a place I had never been even though I've lived in Chicago for over two years now). After finishing the meal, I was feeling pretty good about myself and the total romantico feat I had accomplished. As my bf stretched and began to brag about my tofu seasoning skills, in bounded Milez (my very large, orange, feline friend). He had the crazy eye. The scittery, ears back, "I'm about to do something that will really piss you off" maniacal stare.
Without a second thought, the dude leaps into his litterbox (which I stupidly put in the little pantry off of the kitchen...I have a small apartment) and without any reservation whatsoever drops the smelliest. nastiest. dump. evar. and races out of kitchen.
bastard.cat.
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