There was that one time, when she was a kitten, and she made the sharp realization that I had scaled up versions of the milk-delivery system she'd enjoyed as an infant, sure. But only once does one let their cat molest their sleeping body. If you're one of the people who has ever asked why I bother wearing pyjamas when I live alone in the hottest city in Canada, the answer is cat mouth-to-nipple related. My darling She Ra has moved on to more nefarious ways of ruining my sex life than scarring me emotionally. That is: condom tampering.
A big thank you to Kathy (check out her blog and leave lots of comments insisting she get back into it - seriously girl, it's been too long and you're too lovely): my compadre noticed that, "uh...there is a rip...puncture? Sydney. She Ra has been chewing on your condoms." Six. Six condoms had been bitten. Only one or two punctures each, so nothing conspicuous enough to draw attention, had we not been specifically looking closely at the condoms (reason below). That cat is lucky I have been getting none. Whatabitch.
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| yeah. she looks like a villain. |
Which also explains why I was showing Kathy my condoms in the first place: they expire in two months. Dear. God.
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