Aromatherapy for Kitties

 "You will achieve a kind of immortality this week when you become the first person in history to be bludgeoned to death with a lace doily."

OK - So Kitty still has plenty of rants left up the 'ol sleeve, and Kitty really has no outlet for all the rage aside from almost breaking her foot after kicking her metal filing cabinet yesterday (turns out she was wearing high heeled sandals as opposed to steel-toe boots). As such, the ramblings shall continue. On the bright side, this won't be public anymore, so Kitty can quite frankly spew all the nonsense she pleases (or in the name of therapy, clearly needs).

If there is one thing I love, it's a delicious scent. Scented foam soap? My god, I think I just pee'd a l'il! Not only is it foamy goodness and not that pearlized shit that gets underneath your rings so that every piece of paper you touch is kissed with the spoot of the gods - it has touched down upon our planet (further, in the Ladies Facilities on the first floor of this building) in a plethora of scents that arouse the appetite of a certain Kitty who forgot to eat breakfast. By the by, oodles of thanks (and a crudely constructed shrine) go in honor of the dear lady who procures these on her own dime for the lavish enjoyment by all!



This morning, I hazily wandered onto Mt. Olympus to scrub off the coffee grounds I had just poured all over myself in ritual celebration of possessing a complete lack of hand-eye coordination... and there she was. "Island Nectar" was her name. This illustrious full-figured bottle of tangerine foam. At first, I toyed with notions of playing hard to get, but the pretty illustration on her belly dissolved such notions instantly. Little did I know she had a hair-trigger temper and was in no mood for my bullshit. She struck like a snake in the night! Tangerine foamy goodness splattered like the blood of the innocent on my black jacket.



This isn't the first instance of retaliation for my natural scent-inspired curiosities (nor, I'm sure, will it be the last). In fact, to date I have been attacked by an entire harem of foam soaps, sprayed in the eyes by at least 7 assorted Eau de Toilettes, kicked in the ovaries by a stick of incense or two... the list goes on, but the tearful memories are starting to make my nose burn.

It's possible the real culprit is me and my astonishing clumsiness with every inanimate object or doorway I encounter - but that's too obvious. I smell a conspiracy.


P.S. The title of this brings up another, brief rant.... Who the hell has so much money burning a hole under their mattress that they actually take no issue with paying some stranger handsomely to stimulate the olfactories of their fuzzy loved ones? Just sayin'.

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Kitty

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Aromatherapy for Kitties

 "You will achieve a kind of immortality this week when you become the first person in history to be bludgeoned to death with a lace doily."

OK - So Kitty still has plenty of rants left up the 'ol sleeve, and Kitty really has no outlet for all the rage aside from almost breaking her foot after kicking her metal filing cabinet yesterday (turns out she was wearing high heeled sandals as opposed to steel-toe boots). As such, the ramblings shall continue. On the bright side, this won't be public anymore, so Kitty can quite frankly spew all the nonsense she pleases (or in the name of therapy, clearly needs).

If there is one thing I love, it's a delicious scent. Scented foam soap? My god, I think I just pee'd a l'il! Not only is it foamy goodness and not that pearlized shit that gets underneath your rings so that every piece of paper you touch is kissed with the spoot of the gods - it has touched down upon our planet (further, in the Ladies Facilities on the first floor of this building) in a plethora of scents that arouse the appetite of a certain Kitty who forgot to eat breakfast. By the by, oodles of thanks (and a crudely constructed shrine) go in honor of the dear lady who procures these on her own dime for the lavish enjoyment by all!



This morning, I hazily wandered onto Mt. Olympus to scrub off the coffee grounds I had just poured all over myself in ritual celebration of possessing a complete lack of hand-eye coordination... and there she was. "Island Nectar" was her name. This illustrious full-figured bottle of tangerine foam. At first, I toyed with notions of playing hard to get, but the pretty illustration on her belly dissolved such notions instantly. Little did I know she had a hair-trigger temper and was in no mood for my bullshit. She struck like a snake in the night! Tangerine foamy goodness splattered like the blood of the innocent on my black jacket.



This isn't the first instance of retaliation for my natural scent-inspired curiosities (nor, I'm sure, will it be the last). In fact, to date I have been attacked by an entire harem of foam soaps, sprayed in the eyes by at least 7 assorted Eau de Toilettes, kicked in the ovaries by a stick of incense or two... the list goes on, but the tearful memories are starting to make my nose burn.

It's possible the real culprit is me and my astonishing clumsiness with every inanimate object or doorway I encounter - but that's too obvious. I smell a conspiracy.


P.S. The title of this brings up another, brief rant.... Who the hell has so much money burning a hole under their mattress that they actually take no issue with paying some stranger handsomely to stimulate the olfactories of their fuzzy loved ones? Just sayin'.

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