Cannot talk to you today, girl. I have to leave early to take stud-about-town Roger and homosexual Anderson (who I am certain is a stud in his own way) to get fixed-ded. I mean, it's the South. Anderson is probably married and an organist for his church. Every gay man I have met here is married and an organist for his church.
The point is, feel bad for the cats. They keep jumping up to their currently nonexistent food dish, all "Whiskey tango foxtrot, mom?" And if I believed in emoticons, I would put a frowny face one here.
Okay, off to mutilate my poor babies.
