I have never wanted the dogs to be on the couch, if you want to know the truth. It was always Marvin who allowed it, and who wanted the dogs in the bed, too. There is a tacky joke here about Marvin's new single life, but I will remain the Grace Kelly I always am on this topic. Mostly because I can't think of a good one.
Once he left, I thought maybe I could get the dogs to get off the damn couch once and for all. I have to vacuum and/or Scotch Guard that couch daily.
I mean, I do not spray Scotch Guard; they have this fur-getter-offer plastic thingie that works really well, but you have to buy new pads for it which I am certain is good for the environment. Yellow plastic toothy grabby hairy flaps will be here in 5,000 years and we will not.
It's an inconvenient truth.
At any rate, the part where I yell at the dogs, "Off the couch!" 95 times a day has not been that fruitful. They get off the couch, sure, but then they get right back on.
But yesterday? My Sofa Scram came. I know!
It's this pad you lay across your couch, and when a Schnauzer goes to jump up there, it goes BEEP! and it's supposed to disturb the SHIT out of your pet. In fact, that's its slogan. Guaranteed to disturb the SHIT out of your beloved pet! Buy one today!
I was so excited to get out the Sofa Scram and watch it in action.
Yeah. Why must EVERYTHING come without a battery? It's just rude. Did they TELL me it needed a battery when I was online purchasing this terrorizing item? No. The other day I got a Swiffer Wetjet (WHAT ABOUT LOVE! Every time I see a stupid Swiffer Wetjet I sing that song. Good advertising, people of Swiffer) (even though, really, what does a mop have to do with love?) and after I pushed the squirty knob–which I know sounded dirty–850 times, it finally dawned on me that it, too, needed stupid batteries.
I hate everything.
So even though it was early evening and Edsel knew PERFECTLY WELL it was walk time, I headed out to the Office Depot, there, for a stupid 9-volt battery.
Perhaps when you think, "I need batteries" you do not immediately head to Office Depot. But I have incenative, as my grandmother would pronounce it, to go there.
What could my incenative be? Could it be…OFFICE DEPOT KITTIES?
I didn't, you know, shake this bag or anything, or call, "Kittykittykittykittykittykitty…" 900 times, hoping anyone would show up.
As an aside? When I got Anderson Cooper? Marvin went with me. It was just a fluke; he was obsessed with that Greensboro bear that was loose, and he called me in a growly voice, "Hullo. I'm the BEAARRRRR. In your YARRRRRD." Who continues to adore himself? So I said, "You know, I'm headed to a perfect stranger's house to get a kitten off Craigslist. You wanna go with me?" And he stopped being a bear and came along.
The point is, when the lady handed over Anderson, and Marvin had to pay the $30 "rehoming fee" (whatever) because I had no cash on me, she said, "I am so glad a normal person is taking this cat. You have no idea how many cat ladies called about him."
Fortunately we got out to the car before Marvin let loose about that one. "Oh yes! Thank God no CAT LADIES got this cat!"
Also too, Marvin is in love with Anderson Cooper and keeps insisting that because he paid for him the cat is technically his. He steals another cat from me he'll be pulling back a stump.
Back to Office Depot–where I was NOT BEING A CAT LADY AT ALL–in the distance?
Eventually he made his way to the dish, as did Sharpie.
Why was NO ONE going on the ding-dang couch!?!
I mean, did they just KNOW something bad was on the couch?
So everyone's effing with me. I KNOW the thing beeps, though. Because I sat on it without remembering it was there.
…Did I mention I hate everything?
(P.S. Happy birthday, dad!)