Bad Eye Days and Tofurkey
Don’t get me wrong. 99% of the time owning four sets of big ol’ sharp talons is a good thing. Really, what’s not to like? With claws I can:
- go from full on sprint to sudden stop in mere milliseconds [while simultaneously introducing cool new textures to the carpeting.]
- stir the sleepiest of rommates to full “how may I serve you?” attention with a quick, simple “poink.” [My usual response to their query: "Refill my crunchies and give me $2, my pajamad servant."]
- successfully integrate my abstract expressionist leanings with my thoughts on society [and the living room couch.]
I think you get it. Being pointy can be pretty cool. But alas, there is that 1% of the time when having claws is about as much fun as a trip to the vet [aka "that weirdo w/ the thermometer."]
That 1% of the time can usually be summed up as a ‘bad eye’ day. Yep, every once in a while a hair, dust particle, or whatever, gets a hankerin’ for a little R&R and decides that one of my pupils looks like a good place to get room service and a complimentary bathrobe.
And once this happens, I’m pretty much stuck, ‘cuz in terms of removing this unwanted tenant, two of my biggest assets: being covered in hair and pointy things, become as useful [and fashionable] as the old dude in the hemp shirt across the street shouting “the tofurkey’s ready and in the hizzzouse!”
Yep, a bad eye day is indeed that bad. And yes, I’m wearing a tie dyed shirt as I write this.
