Catastrophe, thy name is Scrapper

I got up to go to the bathroom and I went straight there and came straight back, no side trips. So where did my glasses go? Why is there a torch sitting in the middle of the seat of my chair? How did my lap robe get all the way across the room to end up crumpled under the computer desk? What imp of the perverse has decided to make merry with my life this time? Who has decided that sanity is an option, not a requirement?

The answer to each of these questions is... Scrapper. She truly is a demon spawn who torments me unmercifully. She hates me unless I'm eating cereal or yogurt. She is a 5 lb cat with a hugely bushy tail and not much hair over the rest of her back half because when I won't let her torment me, she compulsively cleans herself. She's a bully. If I try to draw she has to help me by grabbing the end of the pencil, missing and sinking her scimitar sharp claws into the back of my left hand. When I cook, she becomes Mrs. Underfoot and In The Way. When I'm taking a bath she chases invisible shadows on the shower curtain and rips it to shreds with those same lethal claws. She is the bane of my existence and I adore her.

When I'm drawing jewelry with the ACS syringes, she likes to sit on my shoulder. My Left shoulder. I'm left handed. Everytime I twitch a muscle, she digs her claws in and that makes me jerk and I have a huge clean up to do. When I turn on the dremel, she screeches and climbs with all 21 of her pitons out. Yes, she's six toed on one foot. When I fire up the torch, she wants to play with the pretty fire. You can guess how that works out. *sigh*

She's a terrible kleptomaniac. Any time she walks by, half of my tools go missing. She also has a purr that would rival a tiger's. She's a five color calico when she has all her hair. She loves my hubby and will perch on his lap for hours and purr until you'd think she was vibrating apart. She catches mousies and birds and rabbits and brings them to us as gifts, usually burying them under the rug at the side of the bed. She's adorable, and she's a year old today.

I can't calculate the amount of silver she's damaged, sometimes wrecking hundreds of dollars worth in a single mad, schitzo-kitty scramble around the room at 3 in the morning. She's the bane of my existence right now and she's draped over my foot, fast asleep, purring. *heavy sigh*

What I truly don't understand is exactly when I became a cat toy.*very heavy sigh* I really do have better things to do with my time. Maybe as soon as she wakes up...

Love truly is a strange thing.