The Hoarder


Some people find their niche in writing, some in teaching, some in computers, and so on. I’m afraid my niche is in hoarding junk. I am blessed, or cursed, with a large attic. The idea was that some day it would be finished into extra bedrooms. It never happened. Instead it gradually filled up with junk.

Need a place to put the TV that doesn’t work? Put it in the attic. We can get rid of it later when we have more time. Changing around the living room? Just store the extra furniture upstairs. The kids don’t have a place to store their extra stuff? Put it in my attic. No point in paying for storage.

And so it went. Years of accumulation: The shelves from the den that were too good to throw away; the Christmas decorations; the clothes that were too small right now, but that might fit again when I lose weight; the outdated set of encyclopedias; and miles of extra computer cable. All found the way upstairs, and soon became coated with a thick layer of dust.

It came to the point that we could no longer find things that we needed. It was easier to go buy a new item than to look for it in the attic. I needed a shelf in my closet. I knew exactly what I needed was up there — someplace. But I couldn’t face the mess, so I bought a new one. That was the last straw.

In one of those surges of hormonal energy that women occasionally get, I declared that it was time to clean the attic. I donned old clothes and determined that I would reduce the unsightly accumulation. Junk would go to the junkyard. Usable stuff, no longer used, would go to charity. Only the cream of the junk crop would be saved.

Boxes of books were opened while silverfish scattered in every direction. Furniture was scooted around. Bags were unpacked. Trash was thrown down the stairs. Dust flew. It was disgusting! How could anyone let things get into such a state?

I’ve read that people hoard things that they don’t need because they are afraid of throwing away something that they might use later. Am I becoming a hoarder? Will they find five hundred empty mayonnaise jars in my attic when I die? I found five dozen canning jars that hadn’t been touched since the vegetable garden of 1990.

I’ve heard that the difference between a collector and a hoarder is that collectors keep things because they give them pleasure, not because they are afraid to throw them away. Also, they are somewhat organized with their collectibles.

Organization definitely did not enter the picture where my attic was involved. Am I becoming one of those people that you read about in the paper? Neighbors complain about the smell and police find 100 cats inside someone’s house.

Time to clean before the cats find me. Out, out, junk! Be gone from me!

After two days and numerous trips to the junkyard with disintegrated cardboard boxes, I began to feel hope. After untold trips to the local charity collection site with reusable items, I began to think positively. Funny, though, as I looked around the attic, I could not miss a thing. The attic was still full. Is the junk mating and multiplying?

Yes, unbelievable, but after two days of hauling stuff away, it looked exactly the same.

I want my attic back. I want the junk out of my life forever. I want only one Christmas tree, no extra tires that don’t fit any automobile that we own; no boxes of used clothes to store, no computer chairs with cracks in the leather, no fodder for dust mites.

Someday I will finish the task. Someday I will clean the attic until it sparkles. Someday the dust mites will no longer have parties over my head. But, I just can’t face it today.

However, if there were one bright spot to all this ungodly mess polluting my life, it would have to be that I didn’t find any cats up there at all.

Copyright 2007 Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

The Death of Old Leaky


Several months ago, I decided to replace the leaky icemaker in my fridge. I hesitated about it for a long time as the refrigerator was old, and I was afraid a new icemaker might be more than it could handle.

Sure enough, a few months after the new icemaker and the ice cubes were melting. “This is it,” I thought. However, the fridge seemed to still be working. I noted that it was crammed pretty full and decided that the problem was because the freezer door had popped open.

Then last weekend it happened again. However, honey and I had errands to do and didn’t have time to stay home and babysit a refrigerator. We made sure the freezer door was closed and went on about our merry business.

It wasn’t long before my cell phone rang. “Mom, the ice cubes have melted. I think old leaky has really died this time.”

It was the weekend; we had a refrigerator full of frozen food. What to do? I had tried getting a repairman on the weekend the first time it acted up and found that voicemail doesn’t call back after hours.

I began to calculate how old the refrigerator was. Best I could figure out, it was about 24 years of age. It had outlived two or three normal refrigerators already. What could I expect?

“We might as well get a new one,” I told my honey. “But where can anyone buy a refrigerator at 9:00 o’clock at night?”

Fortunately, we were close to an appliance store at the time, so we wheeled in just before the clock struck 9:00 and the doors were locked. We were greeted by a salesman, smiling like an alligator poacher.

“How can I help you folks?” he hummed, his eyes fixated on the row of gleaming new stainless steel refrigerators.

“My refrigerator died tonight. I need something new — something cheap.”

He looked pained “We do have some dented and scratched models that are reduced,” he confessed, with obvious disappointment.

We looked them over. At this point, I didn’t much care, but I figured I might as well get something flashy if I was going to have to spend that sort of money.

“When can we get one delivered?”

“These have to be moved to the warehouse and then delivered. Do you have a truck?” In the South everyone has a truck because, “You never know when you might need one.”

Not being a good redneck, I don’t have a pickup. I didn’t much like those dents and scratches anyhow. I might as well just fix old leaky.

We looked over the new ones, which could be delivered right away. I would settle for a black one, but I really liked the looks of the stainless steel models better.

Finally, we picked one out, and I wrote a check out of my rainy day account. If this isn’t a rainy day, I don’t know what is.

Old leaky continued to chug along, cool, but not really cold. Melted popsicles ran under the freezer door and down the front, making a sticky mess.

Finally, the gleaming new one arrived. It slid perfectly into the old spot in the kitchen.

“Looks like you’ll be getting a new stove next,” said the deliveryman as they carried old leaky out the door. He would have to mention that. I hope my stove didn’t hear him. It might get ideas.

The next day when we came in from work, there was a big puddle of water in the middle of the kitchen floor in front of the new fridge. I thought I was going to cry. As it turned out, however, it wasn’t the refrigerator’s fault. We had put the water filter in wrong.

Hopefully, my refrigerator problems are over, at last. Now if the stove will just suck it in and last a bit longer, maybe I can breath for a while.

Copyright 2007 Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Call Me Curly


You are not going to believe me, but I have naturally curly hair. “You’re lucky!” everyone tells me. Lucky? I don’t think so. I have to work really hard to make it look naturally straight.

Why is it that people with straight hair wish it was curly and people with curly hair envy long, straight hair?

I had a perm years ago, but I grew tired of the curly look and started wearing it straight. By now, people have pretty much forgotten about my curly hair, or else they didn’t know me then.

When we were out of town on a mini-vacation a month or so ago, I spent a lot of time outside in the humidity. I worked so hard to get my hair “fixed” in the morning, only to have it go frizzy within an hour or two.

I began to wonder, since it seems so determined to curl on its own, would it curl like a perm without any chemicals?” I decided to give it a try. I washed it and dried it at low speed on the dryer. I jelled it and scrunched it, resisting the urge to comb it out straight and “fix” it.

Guess, what? It worked! All those years of perms and if I didn’t comb it straight while wet or blow it straight with a hair blower, it was curly all on its own. It would fix itself if I would just leave it alone.

So, the frizzy look won. I gave up entirely on straight hair and just went to a natural style.

When I returned to work, everyone said in unison, “You got a perm?”

“No, I said, “It is naturally curly.”

Naturally curly? Oh sure, they replied. I could tell no one believed me. Why would I lie about it? If I had a perm I would say so, but what could I do?

“I wish I could do mine like that,” said one co-worker. “I really like that look, but I can’t resist the urge to “fix” my hair.”

So, I went on about my life being asked by everyone that knew me if I had a new perm, and replying that it was naturally curly. I guess what threw them off was that they had only seen it straight before.

“It looks lighter too,” they observed, eyeing me suspiciously.

“No, I didn’t change the color either. It must just reflect the light differently.”

Everywhere I went, it was the same story:

Co-worker, “I like your hair. Did you get it permed?”

Boss: “I see you have a new perm?”

Receptionist at doctor’s office: “When did you get a perm?”

Even the chiropractor, “You got a perm, huh?” Or did you stick your finger in a light socket? Guess he wanted to adjust it and make it straight again.

Anyhow, after I while, I got tired of answering the same question. Besides, if they really think it is a perm, why do they have to ask me if it is and then deny the truth when I tell it to them? They could just assume it’s a perm, and not ask an obvious question.

Last night even my daughter-in-law asked, “Did you get your hair permed?” “No,” I explained again. “It’s naturally curly.”

Maybe I should just go back to straight hair. I thought it would be less trouble to have it natural. But having to explain it over and over is a lot of trouble too.

Maybe I should just agree with the inquisitors and say that I did get it permed. That way everyone could be happy, everyone but me, that is.

“We knew it!” They would say. Why did it take so long for you to admit it?

Copyright 2007 Sheila Moss


Posted in Humor, Work Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Battle of the Lightbulbs


Instructions for adding additional lighting to your home:

  1. Decide that the dark space in your attic (or basement, or garage) could be better utilized with additional lighting.

  2. Go to local discount store and, buy an easy-to-install-just-plug-it-in, florescent workshop light and two florescent light tubes.

  3. Find pliers and put together the easy-to-assemble hanging apparatus for light fixture.

  4. Put band-aid on finger that didn’t know assembly was supposed to be easy.

  5. Install the two light tubes and twist 90 degrees according to package instructions.

  6. Plug in fixture. One light works and one doesn’t. Curses!

  7. Spend a minimum of one hour wiggling, switching, and turning light off and on.

  8. Decide fixture is defective – cheap, inferior merchandise. Unassemble fixture and return to original carton.

  9. Return fixture to store, get a refund, and purchase a deluxe, more expensive, less- likely-to-be-junk, model.

  10. Take it home and remove fixture from box. Do not assemble hanging apparatus until you are certain that it works this time.

  11. Re-install light tubes and find that one works and one doesn’t — again. Curses! — again. Find the wrapper in the trash and rewrap the best you can, freely utilizing transparent tape.

  12. Make a third trip to the stupid store to return the stupid lights. Who ever heard of a light bulb not working?

  13. Purchase a replacement set of lights and return home. This is beginning to get old. Install the second set of stupid lights in the stupid, deluxe fixture.

  14. One light works and one doesn’t. That figures! Spend a minimum of one hour wiggling, switching, plugging and unplugging the light. There must be a surplus of defective light bulbs on the market this week.

  15. Rewrap the lights in the wrapper that you cleverly saved this time. Return it to the store. Ignore appalled look of Customer Service clerk and ask for a refund.

  16. Purchase a third set of stupid, inferior, no-good, lights. Why can’t these stupid things be packaged separately instead of in stupid twin packs? That probably makes too much sense.

  17. Return home and install third set of new lights in the new deluxe fixture. Three is a charm, isn’t it?

  18. Yes, an unlucky charm. This time neither light works. Spend only 15 minutes wiggling, switching, plugging and unplugging light fixture – not that it does any good.

  19. Briefly obsess about how good it would feel to smash the stupid, idiotic, worthless, good-for-nothing, mess into smithereens. Unfortunately, the store will not return money on damaged merchandise.

  20. Rewrap third set of demon-possessed lights and put the cursed-by-hell light fixture in the box.

  21. Return to store for fifth time and drag the junk to the Customer Service counter. “Still doesn’t work, huh?” says clerk. Lucky for her that you want your money back or you’d smack her over the head with a defective light tube.

  22. Get money back and flee from the den of light-fixtures-made-in-hell before the store revises their return policy and refuses to return your money. Enough is enough.

  23. Go home and find a handy-dandy, heavy-duty, 10-year-old extension cord that you had out in the garage.

  24. Throw the extension cord over rafter in the attic and screw in a plain, old-fashioned light bulb.

  25. Voile! Let there be light! God is good!

Copyright 2007 Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor, Rants | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dust of an Unlucky Moon

shelby-miller-653561-unsplashI don’t know if she was born in the dust of an unlucky moon, sneezed at the wrong time, or was under the rug when God passed out the good luck genes. Bad luck seems to follow my daughter around like a cloud of dust follows Pigpen in Peanuts cartoons.

It happened again yesterday. I was wheeling home from work, dead tired after a long day at the office, and just as I turned into the garage my cell phone rang. I missed it, but before I could get inside, the home phone was ringing.

“Mom, it’s me. My car broke down on the Interstate and quit. Can you come and get me?”

“Where are you?”

“At the gas station near the mall.”

“Where’s the car?”

“It’s still on the side of the Interstate. I’ve been stranded for two hours.”

“Did you call a tow truck?”

“Yes, but they didn’t come. I saw you go by on your way home.”

Well, it’s an emergency. Nothing to do but turn around and go back. Why didn’t the tow truck come? I need to call them back. I forgot to ask who she called.

Halfway back to the mall, my cell phone rang again. “Mom, they are sending another tow truck. The first one broke down on the way to get me.”

Good grief! Not only can they not make a car that runs these days, they can’t even make an emergency vehicle that will!

I made it to the gas station at about the time the towing company called again to say the second truck was on the way and would be there in 25 minutes.

She had called the roadside assistance that came with the car warranty. That was good thinking. I never would have thought of them. Of course, with her luck she has plenty of experience with tow trucks. I wondered if the truck that broke down was made by the same company as her car.

“Where did you tell them to tow it

“They will only tow it if you take it to a dealership.”

We just spent a thousand dollars on repairs to that stupid piece of junk a month ago, so that’s where it needs to go anyhow.

“What did it do?”

“It just started making a noise and not going anywhere. I had to pull over to the side. I sat there for an hour before the emergency assistance truck came by, but they couldn’t get it started. Then the police finally came, and gave me a ride to the gas station. They said it was too dangerous to stay there.”

What a nightmare! The newly dispatched tow truck was coming from the car dealership. We waited a while at the gas station and then went to meet the tow truck on the side of the road.

It was the middle of rush hour traffic, and not a good place to be on the side of the Interstate in the dark. The traffic sped by at 70 mph only a few feet from where we were. I looked in the rear view mirror, hoping each passing car would be the tow truck. I was scared to death we would be hit, but finally I saw the beautiful flashing lights of the tow truck.

My daughter called the dealership today to see what the problem is with the car. She waited on hold for an hour, but apparently everyone was too busy to talk to her. I guess the service center has a lot of business.

Finally, they called back to say the car needed a part and a new battery. Naturally, the dust cloud poured out its usual unlucky grunge and they didn’t have the part in stock. So, she is without a car over the weekend and, maybe longer.

If you see a dark, dusty cloud floating by, it is not Pigpen. That will be my daughter in her car heading for her next disaster.

Copyright 2006 Sheila Moss
Posted in Automotive, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cupid’s Reply



Subject: RE: Urgent Request

Thank you for your inquiry via email. I always make my utmost effort to respond to clients, especially with circumstances as desperate as those you describe. I am indeed known through out eternity for my intervention in matters of the heart; however, the request you make is a most serious one.

By the way, while it’s true than some matches have been better than others, remember that except for me, they would never have fallen in love at all. It is better to have loved and lost, and all that stuff, you know.

One shot from my arrow will give anyone a romantic way of thinking. Your beloved will forget about TV and his computer and shower you with love and affection. Do you like flowers, chocolates and perfume? How about a pair of diamond earrings or a red silk nightie?

I am the ORIGINAL “love doctor” — way before Dr. Phil or Dr. Ruth. I don’t waste time on analysis — just one arrow and ZING! It a sure shot for a sagging relationship every time with no Cialis needed!

All men have a tender spot somewhere. It only takes the right woman and a little incentive for him to become love struck and hopelessly head over heels. I would suggest a word of caution, however. Be sure — very sure — that this is the man of your dreams. Once my arrow smites him, he will be under the power of the greatest motivational force known to mankind. Wars have been fought for the sake of love.

I will look forward to being at your service and will plan to arrive early on February 14th. No human being should live without love. Don’t worry about me finding him, I have my methods and always get my prey.

By the way, if you should feel a tiny sting yourself, do not be alarmed. Love works best when it is mutually shared. So, just enjoy that warm, loving feeling and do not attempt to resist letting your heart melt. I have just checked my records and it seems that I have received an email concerning you also.

Men can also write letters to Cupid, you know.

Copyright 2006 Sheila Moss
Posted in Holidays, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Email to Cupid




Subject: Urgent Request

Since this month is February, the month of love, and since you are the bearer of love and affection, could I ask you to aim one of your arrows at a certain person I know? Just one shot from your arrow could probably bring him around to a more romantic way of thinking. My guy forgets that February 14th is Valentine’s Day, and usually watches TV until he falls asleep.

After all, you have been patching relationships for ailing couples for an eternity. Romeo and Juliet, Mark Anthony and Cleopatra, Brad and Jennifer. Well, maybe some have turned out a little better than others, but you know what I mean. Since you will be out anyhow, flitting around in your underwear, couldn’t you just aim an arrow or two his way? I know you are not Dr. Phil, but I don’t really have time for a consultation and most likely he is out shopping for a Valentine gift for his beloved anyhow.

With your excellent marksmanship, you could easily nail my guy. If you think it would help, I can turn on the porch light when he gets home so you don’t have to waste a lot of valuable time doing your business. I would hate to have to hold him down, though, as he would certainly figure out what I’m up to then

I don’t want you to shoot him in the heart — just wing him a little. A direct shot to the heart would probably kill an old guy like him. He might become so amorous that I could not control him. I would hate for you to be responsible for any nasty incidents that might occur — or is that just wishful thinking?

Thank you for your kind attention and I will be looking forward to your response.


Posted in Holidays, Humor | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Furniture Safari

fernando-cferdo-627205-unsplashI’ve not purchased any furniture in a long time — so long I don’t even want to think about it. After all, who needs furniture? Once you buy it, it lasts forever, except maybe an upholstered piece or two, but even that can be recovered and made like new.

I’ve been thinking about my home lately. It is always dangerous when a woman thinks about her home. We are sitting scrunched up in a small bedroom-turned-office with computers and a TV, while in the front of the house there is a large living room that is hardly touched at all.

It just doesn’t make sense. We need to utilize our space differently and start taking advantage of the space we have instead of saving it — what are we saving it for? Company? Company doesn’t have to live here, but I do and my elbows are tired of bumping into stuff.

We need some new furniture, something that looks decent instead of the make-do mess that is good enough for the office but not for the living room. We need something for the TV and all the junk that goes with it. We can move the TV to the living room to utilize our space, but we can’t have that tacky TV in the living room in its current black, plastic glory.

It’s time to go shopping.

Now, just walk in a furniture store and look as if you have come to spend money and the sales people are on you like vultures on carrion. “What are you looking for today?” “Let me show you this one.” “Did you see that one over there?”

When I shopped for furniture back in the dark ages, life was much simpler. Nowadays a TV needs a media center with components, expandable bridges, and glass shelves. I had no idea of the sort of stuff that is on the market.

We are led around the cavernous store in a daze. I want everything I see and each item is prettier, and more expensive, than the last. But, eventually, everything begins to look the same and it all sort of blends together in one giant wall unit. I can’t remember what I saw, where I saw it, how much it cost, what size it was, or anything else — even though I thought I was being smart by writing information down.

We wander around furniture stores that are all the same; looking at furniture that is all the same, while smiling salespeople that are all the same follow us sniffing. This item is sort of what we want, and that one is better but not exactly it either. That one is too expensive and we might be able to afford that one, but it is not the right size.

“How do you get out of here? I need time to think.” Our only chance is when a young couple that looks newlywed walks in the door. “I think I’m being paged,” says the salesperson, as he excuses himself. “Here, take my card!”

I’m beginning to wonder if rearranging the house is such a good idea after all. We may be cramped and tacky, but at least we don’t have to spend all our free time on furniture store expeditions. My head hurts, my knees ache, and I need to go to the bathroom.

Believe it or not, there are still some other stores that my honey wants to look at before we buy as if I’m not confused enough already. Maybe sooner or later we will find something that is the right style, right price, right wood, and right size.

In the meantime, my cramped little office is becoming smaller and smaller every day. I’m beginning to hallucinate that I’m being stalked by a furniture salesman with a remote control, which changes furniture from one style to another, one size to another, and one item to another.

If we could only find the remote button that lowers the price, we might be able to buy.

Copyright 2006 Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Cabin Fever

toa-heftiba-464652-unsplashDo you want to be a snow bunny? Are you tired of spending winter cooped up in the house? Do you want to go to a romantic winter lodge and ski down the bunny slope? Do you want to feel the wind and the spray of the snow in your face? Do you want to sit by the stone fireplace and drink hot buttered rum?

Winter wouldn’t be so bad except for the weather. Even though the stupid groundhog didn’t see his shadow, winter dreariness didn’t get the memo. December is gone and January bleakness has faded into February’s harshness.

Not even a romantic holiday like Valentine’s Day, or the numerous other holidays in February, can fix a cheerless month whose only redeeming factor is that it is short.

As winter sets in, so does cabin fever – not to be confused with Saturday night fever, an entirely different thing. Cabin fever is that winter syndrome that makes you feel so cooped up and stir crazy.

Here are a few of the tell-tell symptoms:

— The once cozy fireplace has now turned into an ash-belching bat cave.

— The TV has only one program that seems the same on every channel regardless of how many channels on the satellite.

— Your rooms grow smaller and smaller with each passing day until you are sure you will be squashed into a Rubik’s cube with eyelashes.

— Cold chills cause shivers and you are wearing that warm, fuzzy bathrobe that you used to think was tacky, but now think is great.

— Floating cat hair and dust mites drift around in the recycled air that you breath and make you sneeze.

— You try to think of things to do to get out of the house when there’s really no place to go, nothing to do, and besides it’s too cold outside anyhow.

— TV’s, stereos, vacuum cleaners, dishwashers, barking dogs, and other domestic sounds echo through your head like a bowling alley on Friday night.

— Toys, papers, shoes, umbrellas and other assorted clutter lay scattered about so that you have to tiptoe around it and pretend you don’t notice — or maybe clean it up one of these days.

— You are the captive of a weather-imposed prison, and there is nothing to do but grin and bear it – or bust the budget for a Caribbean cruise.

— You are sick of surfing the Internet, looking at magazines, reading books, and cooking and would love to go out for a nice long walk if your nose and toes wouldn’t freeze.

— You grow weary of looking through foggy windows, and walking on carpets that are almost as crunchy as potato chips.

— Your family is grumpy from smelling each other, and each other’s other, over and over again.

— You’ve run out of ways to entertain the kids and they are hyper and won’ t settle down to the usual books, toys, and games but would rather rabbit punch each other instead.

— The houseplants curl up and turn yellow from lack of humidity — or lack of interest in living.

— Sheer boredom turns life into a black and white movie and you are the star without makeup, credits or the academy award you so richly deserve.

If all this seems strangely familiar, you too may suffering from cabin fever. Fortunately, there is an inexpensive cure if you can’t afford a vacation and becoming a snow bunny is not your style.


And all you have to do is wait about six weeks for a time when groundhogs are a distant memory, flowers bloom, the sun returns and snow bunnies become beach bunnies.

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor | 1 Comment

The Mischievous Cat’s New Tree



DAY 1 – Once of the most joyful things about the holiday season is the tradition of putting up a Christmas tree. At last the tree is up, trimmed and in all its glory. The lights are sparkling and the ornaments glittering.

DAY 2 – “Isn’t it beautiful?” As I stand back to admire it. The cat’s green eyes narrow and she looks intently at the strange new object that has entered her world.

DAY 3 – Well, I might have known that the cat could not resist checking out the tree. She even managed to pull off a few of the low hanging ornaments during the night. Isn’t that cute? I will hang them back where they belong. She will get used to it and leave it alone after a while. “Nice kitty! You must not bother the pretty tree.”

DAY 4 – “Bad kitty! Look at all those ornaments you pulled off the tree! You are not supposed to bother the tree. You must have pulled off a dozen. How did you get to them? Now I will have to redecorate the entire tree. I can’t go through this every day. Scat!”

DAY 5 – There are ornaments all over the house, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, and even in the bed. The cat must have gone wild last night. “What’s the matter with you, stupid cat? I told you to leave it alone. This is not a collection of cat toys for you. Leave it alone. Understand?”

DAY 6 – She finally did it. The cat from hell turned the tree over and the ornaments are scattered all over the house. The side of the tree is all mashed in. I pick up the tree, and gather the ornaments. “I can fix it later — after I put out the cat.”

DAY 7 – Of course the tree is in the floor again. What did you expect? This is getting to be more trouble than it’s worth. “If I can find that cat I’m going to kill it!” But when I come back from looking for her, the tree is turned over again. “The cat can live in the garage until Christmas. I don’t care how cold it is.”

DAY 8 – The demon cat got back in the house. The tree is upside down and there are ornaments all over the place. The star has falling off and the tree has only a few ornaments left hanging on it. “Who cares?”

DAY 9 – The cat turns the tree over. I put it back up. The cat turns the tree over. I put it back up. The cat turns the tree over. I put it back up. The cat thinks it is a game. You would think that a falling tree would scare the nine lives out of her, but she seems to enjoy it.

DAY 10 – The stupid tree has been turned over so many times I’ve lost count. I throw a handful of stupid ornaments at it. What do you need a stupid tree in the stupid house for anyhow?

DAY 11 – “Yes, the tree is turned over. Want to make something of it?” For your information, I don’t have time to put it back up right now. I’m too busy planning creative ways to kill the cat and make it look like an accident.

DAY 12
– We are probably the only family in the world to put up a Christmas tree and take it back down before Christmas. Humans are really hard to understand. First we give the cat a new tree for Christmas and then we take it back.

CAT: “Hello! What did they expect putting a tree decorated with shiny new cat toys right in the middle of the living room?”

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Holidays, Humor | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments