My Agent has suddenly felt empowered. As a single woman in her early thirties (she is determined to hold onto that title until her 35th birthday later this summer), she has suddenly realized she is the boss of her. Of her home. And of us, apparently.
One of her revelations is that she can sleep ANYWHERE she wants on her queen-sized bed. She used to keep pillows, neatly stacked, on both sides and relegate herself to "her area." While a bit anal, I appreciated it because I was able to zonk out where I pleased on a laaaaaaarge half of the bed. Now, she seems to believe that sleeping in the middle, or worse--diagonally is the best for her. There is no taking my feelings into consideration. No worries about The Empress' comfort. I would never do that to her.
But, then again, I'm not a bitch.
Another thing she does is use the bathroom--WITH THE DOOR OPEN! She claims, since she lives alone, this is a non-issue. Um...hello!? Last time I checked, delusional Agent, you do not live alone. You have two aroma-sensitive felines who allow you to live with them. And one has horrific allergies (not me, I'm flawless). To be this immodest with your bodily functions is atrocious. And let's not even talk about her shower practices! Even I have a hooded litterbox--and I'm the most bold and brash feline I know! The last thing I would want is for you to watch me cop a squat and deposit my waste.
We must be different in that way.
Finally, she controls the remote control for the television. She claims, since she pays the cable bill, she is entitled to watch what she wishes. After making that proclamation, she'll laugh and say, "But if you two want to watch TV all day long, while I'm at work...please do!" What a crock of shit. She knows I won't use the remote because it's murder on my manicure and that Brach is Mysophobic and won't touch anything but his food, his water, his litterbox (that he doesn't seem to know we share) and his bed(s). Funny, Agent. Rrrrrrrrre-he-eally funny.
No, it's not.
I don't know what will temper this selfish-a-thon, but it must stop soon. Does she need a man? Does she need therapy? Do I need to slip a "roofie" into her Crystal Light? Whatever the solution, it needs to come quickly. I'm tired from no sleep. I'm dizzy from human turd deposits. And I'm bored from no E! News Daily, Entertainment Tonight, and The Insider.
Give a blogging, royal, super-sexy cat a break for crying out loud!