The Punk - and my anger

Regarding that punk and the hell I went through over the weekend...

I'm not brave.

I'm not fearless.

Believe me.

I was shaking in my boots, and I didn't sleep for two nights, fearing what would happen next. Was that mop moved because he had intentions of breaking the back window, reaching in, opening the door and simply walking into my house?
Anyone who would be that blatant to come back numerous times, knowing that I was on to him... and to walk around someone else's yard in broad daylight and steal whatever took his fancy... well, who knows what might have happened next?

I'm just mad as hell that these "kids" (actually, I think this punk was about 19) are allowed to get away with this kind of behavior - and worse - and the police are basically turning a blind eye towards it.

I'm mad as hell that last year, my friend was "rocked" by a gang of teenage girls, just a block from my house, requiring 2 stitches to her cheek... and the polices response was:
"Well, it IS school holidays right now, and you've just got to expect things like this at this time of year, don't you?"

NO!

No we don't have to learn to expect any such thing! I expect our police force to do what they're paid to do - and to keep us safe.
To put honest, law-abiding, tax-paying citizens first and foremost, before the scum that seem to be running the show.

No more pandering to the low-life's and no more excuses about their behavior.
I don't give a rat's arse that his parents split up when he was a baby, and he was traumatized by it... or that his father smacked his arse when he was a little boy. Too bad... so sad.
Tough shit.

Yeah, bad things happen to people as they're growing up... But when are these kids going to learn to pull up their socks, wipe their noses, and move on to become productive citizens?

I'm sick to death of good people suffering, because the laws and government are more interested in protecting the *rights* of the baddies.

I'm sick to death of pedophiles being given suspended sentences, because it's deemed "a risk to their well-being" to be thrown in prison, where bigger, badder guys might take revenge on them.

I'm sick to death of the police not logging crimes - even crimes as petty as stealing a pack of cigarettes - because it raises the crime statistics and makes them look bad.
And I'm sick of a government that allows this kind of stuff to go on.
Statistics mean nothing... if they're not logged, reported, or taken seriously.

We pay, through our local rates, for protection from the police. But do we get it?
No. Who gets protection? The bad guys.

Little old ladies (well, I'm not little, and I'm not old, but that's beyond the point and besides, I'm on a roll here) have to take matters into their own hands, and do the police's business for them.
All the police have to do is come in and put the scum in the patrol car, drive him to the station and then let him go, because the courts will just say that he had a bad childhood.
Poor baby.

Look...I'm not blaming the police at all. I know they do the best they can, with the limited resources available to them. The two cops who responded on Sunday, were the only officers on their shift - day shift - for a town of 100,ooo citizens. They were doing the best they could.
For crying out loud, I was married to a cop for nigh onto 16 years. I know what he went through - and what they go through - on a daily basis, because I witnessed it first hand.

Nobody goes in to law enforcement, with a dream of letting bad guys get away with everything.
So it's not entirely the fault of the cops.... it's partially the fault of honest, decent people who are afraid nowadays to make waves, because of fear of retaliation.

They say that the squeaky wheel gets the grease... and I swear by all that's holy, I will keep squeaking until the day I die.
And I'll keep stringing that fishing line...


Okay, I'm off my soapbox now.

I may need it... to hit some other low-life over the head.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

Edmund Burke

And Edmund Burkes' lesser known, but just as apt:

No one could make a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little.

Nancy "Tater" Drew... Girl Detective

aka, Granny gets her Gun...

There have been some crazy times around here for the last few days, and I've been wanting to do someone some serious harm.
Not the Old Guy... but some little punk-ass guy who lives in the neighborhood.
A little thieving, stalking, piece of scum little PUNK.
Who needs to have his arse seriously whupped.

To start you in from the beginning, I'll give you a run-down of my back door and patio area, okay?
See, When you head out my back door, you exit into a little dog-leg area, that has a wooden sliding door on the left, a windowed wall straight ahead, and then to get to the patio, you turn right and go about 10 steps... to the patio itself.

Or maybe that's making it sound flasher than it really is.
Because what it really is, is an oversized carport area with a back brick wall, a roller door in the front, a shed towards the back, and it's basically open on only one side.
It's where I practically live, because it's set up with a patio table, a couch and a couple of chairs, the barbecue, and with plenty of room left over for the kids to ride their trikes.
It's where I go in the mornings, to have my first cuppa of the day and a smoke.
(Okay, I heard that gasp of horror. But get over it. I smoke, okay? Let's leave the lectures for later. Besides, it's my only vice, since I gave up sex, drugs and alcohol.)

Anywhoooo... I went outside at about 4am yesterday, with my cup of coffee and the first thing that caught my eye, was my Swiffer mop handle laying right across the little dog-leg area directly outside the back door.

And the hackles went up, because it was at least 6 foot from where it was, when I went to bed.
Cats? No, a cat couldn't have knocked it over, because like I said, it was six feet from where it would have landed, if it had simply fallen over. It had been moved. Purposefully. Or on purpose...whatever.
Strange that.

So I headed over to the patio table to sit down and have a smoke... and my chair was warm. Like someone had just gotten out of it, warm.
Okay, maybe it was the neighbors cat, Pud, who spends most of his life in my yard rather than his owners.
But noooo, there's Pud lying on the couch, on my sweater.
Pud had not been in my chair, because he was too curled up and comfortable to have moved in the last 30 seconds.

Someone had been sitting in my chair.
And I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts, that it wasn't Goldilocks.
And Pud sure as hell wasn't talking.
Okay... now I'm freaked, so I head back inside and double lock all the doors.

But once it got light, I went back outside ( I still hadn't had that smoke yet, and I was a bit pissed off and cranky) and I noticed that there were vines from the fence, and a few branches from one of the geraniums strewn across the grass... and I instantly said to myself : "Self, it was just a possum".
That's all it was. He (she?) came over the fence, making a mess, came into the patio, probably checked out Pud's cat food (yes, I'm a sucker, but I figure he sleeps better with a full warm tummy) and then curled up in my chair and had a bit of a snooze.
Yep, that's it. I was freaking about nothing at all.
Or was I?

What about the Swiffer mop? The only way that could have ended it up where it was, was if Mr. Possum had carried it 6 feet... and that's not exactly likely, now is it?
Okay, I'm still a bit freaked, but maybe it wasn't anything. Maybe, just maybe... I'm making much ado about nothing.
So I decide to go on a tour of the yard.
And then I notice wet footprints coming off the grass, across the cement, and leading straight into the patio.
Not from a cat or any animal or my fuzzy purple slippers... but big, wet size 10 footprints, with tread on them.

Okay, it's all been a bit of a puzzle, but I shrug it off. Someone came through the yard in the night, but they're gone now and that's the end of it.

Until 9:45 Saturday morning.

While I was standing in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee for my friend Bonnie, I look out the kitchen window and notice a guy wandering around in my patio.
Bigger than life.
Like he lived here.
There's nothing furtive or sneaky about him, and it just seems that he's totally comfortable being somewhere he has no business being, and it doesn't bother him one little iota that he can hear us in the kitchen! (Bonnie is a cackler and the people 2 doors down would have heard her.)

Anyway, this guy proceeds to walk over to the patio table, and he picks up my smokes and lighter, puts them in the pocket of his hoodie, and he just strolls away... looking around as he's going.
So Bonnie and I run to the back door, and when he hears us, he hoofs it straight down the yard, and up and over the back fence! I'm yelling ( rude things, I guarantee you) Bonnie's yelling and her 8 year old son is yelling... but punk boy just keeps going, clanging and banging on the fences as he goes from one yard to the next. But Bonnie (bless her pea-pickin' little heart) managed to get 3 photos on her camera phone, and in one, you can see his face clearly!

Okay... it's official. I'm freaked.

So I call the cops and all they can tell me is that I should leave the spotlight on in the yard overnight.
Hellooooooo? Did you not hear the part where I said he was here in broad daylight? He was crossing fences, and strolling around like he owned the place, so what's a spotlight going to do?
Just give him more light to see by, so he doesn't trip and hurt himself?
I've got pictures... and I've got his mobile phone, which he dropped as he went over the fence.
I showed it all to the cops and they said to just ring 000 (911) if I heard anything again.

And then last night, he came back.
Having grown up on Nancy Drew and the like and taken everything that Nancy and her friends did, I was ready for this sucker.

• I strung heavy fishing line at the spot where he had initially come over the fence.

• I strung more fishing line at ankle height and attached it to cat food cans, so they would fall over and clatter when it was touched - and hopefully, he would fall flat on his face.

• I sprinkled flour in the areas that he would have to walk to get to my patio.

• I balanced a 4x4 on nails, just over head height, and attached it to more fishing line, so it would fall on him when and if he crossed the line.

Because he's well and truly crossed the line! Don't mess with me, you punk-ass little sucker, because I'll get you - one way or another!!

Did I get him?
Yes and no.
I didn't shoot him anyway.

He came back...
He tripped the line, and the cans fell over and he got tangled up. (hahaha)
He tripped the other line... and the board came down and hopefully knocked him in his little pointed, empty of brains head. (again...hahaha)
And he left footprints all over the patio...

So I called 000 and they managed to catch the little bast buzzard one street over, with flour all over his pants!
Of course, he's denying everything, but with the pictures we got, and his mobile phone?
They have enough to charge him !
*doin' a happy dance*

So...don't mess with this old lady ever again, you little brainless, pointy headed little worthless piece of shit poop, PUNK!

I'll give ya what your mama should have given you!
I'll whup your ass so hard, you won't be sitting down for a week!

Been busy, busy, busy...

I haven't posted since the end of last week, because it's been a busy couple of days around here... But I'm glad to say that things are slowly coming together - and that I'm maintaining my sanity... (well, that part is highly debatable) but I have gotten a lot accomplished lately.

Last week, I had kids off sick and kids coming in sick, only to be sent back home again, so by the end of the week, I was ready for a break.
Saturday was flat out, with moving my dearly beloved old lounge suite out, and moving the new one in, while trying to explain to the Old Guy and his buddies why vacuuming the floor while there was no furniture in here, was so important.
Not that it all got done, but it wasn't for lack of trying... let me tell you!

Now... my old lounge suite had well and truly reached it's use-by date, (I used to have a day care child with pica.. and honest to goodness... she ate holes in my arm chairs - not to mention just about everything else she could get her little chompers around!) but I totally lucked out by finding a fantastic new suite on eBay, for next to nothing!
Well, it's actually second hand, but it's new to me anyway... Only 3 years old and in excellent condition!
And it was cheap as chips, which is always a good thing, as far as I'm concerned.

Sunday, we managed to meet up in Daylesford with the Devine Miz D, (better known as Raspberry Twits, but I won't go into the reasons for that) and we had a lovely, lovely, relaxing day out... which was something we both needed. Just kind of a girls day out, but towing the poor Old Guy along, mainly for chauffeuring purposes... and paying for things.

While we were waiting for Miz D to show up, ( we got there quicker than we planned and had almost an hour to kill - or so we thought) the Old Guy and I had a fantastic breakfast at some little cafe... and I figured that I could probably reproduce it myself.
And.. although it makes me blush to tell you this, I have to admit that my Huevos Rojas turned out even better than what we paid a mini-fortune for!
Mine may not look quite as pretty as the restaurant meal did, but oh my goodness... as far as flavor goes?
Mine beats it... Hands down!

Huevos Rojas

Maggie May, looking as sweet as pie...
I had to throw this one in, because as I was taking pics of the old couch,
she just sat there looking too cute to pass by.
Just look at those gorgeous blue eyes!

~~~~~

The old, much loved, but gettin' quite nasty lounge suite...
(those blankets are to hide the chewed spots - of which there were many!)

But I'm going to miss my old pillows, because they just don't go with the new couch.
*sobbing mightily*

I have to say I loved that old set... I loved the style, I loved the color and I loved just about everything about it.

But a cream colored lounge suite, when I have a house full of kids?

Kind of silly, innit?

But the style on this new baby?
I love it too, because it's so solid and chunky!
It just fits me, ya know?

Which probably says more than I want you to know about the size of my arse, but there ya go...

The Wedding is off...

Honey? I've decided.

What? What have you decided?

I've decided that I don't want to get married.

What? What are you talking about?

I've decided that I don't want to marry you, after all.

WHAT? Who said anything about us getting married?

I know baby... but see, I've been talking to my blogging friends, and I've decided that marriage isn't for me. I don't want to marry you.

What are you on about woman? I don't want to marry you either, so where did you get that idea?

You don't want to marry me? What are you saying? You don't want to marry me?
Give me three good reasons why you wouldn't want to marry me! Men would kill to marry me, I'm telling you!

Well, for one thing, I like being on my own.

What do you mean that you like being on your own? Don't you like being with me? What's wrong with me, that you don't want to spend time with me? Why wouldn't you want to live with me? Don't you like being with me??

Yes I do, but....

But what?

Well, you can get some weird ideas sometimes and I never know what to think...

I get weird ideas? What about you and your towel washing obsessions? At least I don't have laundry obsessions!
But that's only one reason, what are the other two reasons that you don't want to marry me?
C'mon big boy... spit it out.

Well... you can nag a bit.

ME? Nag? You've got to be joking! If I ask you something and you don't listen, I have to repeat myself 100 times. And it still doesn't get done. That's not called nagging - that's just called reminding you! I wouldn't have to call handy men in to do the work that you should be doing, if you would just do what you promised you would do!! If you would just do as I ask, I wouldn't need to keep repeating myself. Or nagging, as you so nastily put it.

See, that's it. You bought this house and then you expect me to come in and do all the chores that you don't want to do.

WHAT? For your information, I work for a living and it's bloody hard to get time to do anything that needs to be done around here! How dare you! You would think that if you really loved me, you would want to take some of the burden off me! You would want to make me happy!
You're retired... and what do you do with your precious free time, I would like to know? Wash towels?
You've been telling me for two years that you want to go fishing... but do you ever get off your lazy ass and do anything about it? No... you sit at home feeling sorry for yourself. You lay in bed and look at boat brochures, but do you ever go out and buy another boat? No... that would be too much like work for you, wouldn't it? And with the fishing? You're so lazy, that I'll bet that if they made pre-baited hooks, you would be all over them, like ducks on a June-bug!

Calm down, babe. Besides, what's wrong with not wanting to get married?

Calm DOWN? How dare you! I am calm. Or at least as calm as I can be, after being informed that you don't love me enough to marry me!

Babe, I do love you enough to marry you. I just don't want to get married. I swear, if I wanted to get married, you would be the only woman that I would want to be married to.

What do you mean by that? So you're saying that you have other women, but I'm the only one you would want to marry? Who are these other women? Here I thought you were home washing towels all day, and I find out that you've been running around with other women?

Woman, what are you talking about? Who said anything about other women?

YOU did, you ungrateful, lazy, single and liking it, man you. Like I would want to marry you in the first place!!! HA!
Well, I'm here to tell you that I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth! If the continuation of our species depended on you and I getting married, mankind would just have to become extinct! I wouldn't marry you if you came gift wrapped!
But... that's only TWO reasons why you don't want to marry me.
Whats' the other reason? Come on.. let's hear another lame excuse for not wanting to marry me!
Just say it!

Well... you do fly off the handle a bit.

I fly off the handle? What are you, nuts? I do NOT fly off the handle. You tell me you don't want to marry me because you have other women, who don't nag you or expect anything of you other than to sit around looking like a room decoration, and you're putting the blame on me???
That's it. Go home.
And I hope you find mooshy spider parts on one of your precious towels, after you've dried yourself.

It's official.
We're not getting married.

The jerk.
Can you believe how he can carry on?

I want to get married...

It's true. I do.
Not only do I want to say "I do"... I want the Old Guy to say "I do" too.

Now I don't want to get married for your traditional reasons of loving somebody so much that living apart from them is pure H-E-Double Toothpicks.
Heck no.
I just like the idea of the Old Guy being, or rather feeling morally obligated to lift his hand to a few chores around here.

And if we were married and living together, he would want to do stuff to make our little love-nest lovely.
Wouldn't he?

He would do stuff like mow the lawn on a little more regular - rather than annual - basis, and I could bring him cool and refreshing drinks, while he wiped the honest sweat off his brow.
And he wouldn't charge me.

He could do manly, fun screwdriver-y things like replace the bloody screw that he removed (a year ago) from the shower head holder (for no good reason, mind you. He just did it because he could)... which means I now have to point the shower head at a weird-arse angle, to keep water from going in the empty screw hole and ruining my walls and I have to wash my hair at a neck-breaking 45 degree angle while water runs up my nose...

If we were married, maybe he would want to change a light bulb without me naggin' and raggin' on him for fourteen weeks and then the only reason he would finally change it was because maybe I tripped in the dark and ended up with compound fractures of 75% of my bones and the paramedics couldn't see what they were doing - so they'll ask him to put a new bulb in.
Which he would do.
In a very manly, "puffing out of the chest" I'm the man of this house kind of way.

If we were married, he would want to carry that 100 pound bag of potting soil that's been sitting in the patio for 2 years, half way down the yard for me, so all I would need to do is split it open and start tossing dirt...
I could be making us a lovely little garden, where we could grow all our own tasty, home grown fruits and veggies, with the 832 seed packets I've collected... and sticking it up the yahootie of the darn Coles/ Safeway rotten vegetables supplying duopoly at the same time.

He would do a little more than just sweep and rake up the millions of dead leaves in the patio, leaving them laying in a 40 foot pile, looking like Mt Kilimanjaro just waiting to be scaled... and then prance around and preen, and sigh mightily, expecting a medal for all his hard work.
If we were married, he would put them in the garden where they belong and dig them in for me.
Wouldn't he?

See, what's got me on a tear longing for matrimony, is that 22 months ago,
( just in case you're not aware, 22 months is 2 months short of 24 months. Which is 2 years. Go check your calender, and you'll see that I'm right)
he talked me in to buying 12 huge red-gum sleepers (railway ties) that would be ideal for the raised garden bed I've been dreaming of.
The cute little (okay, not so little) raised bed that would have a little fence at the back, which would block out the light from the back neighbors spot light.
Which is left on 24 hours a day and that shines directly in my bedroom window at night.
Oh, and I could grow stuff there, as well.

We hauled those sleepers all the way down the back and placed them in the approximate position of the future garden bed.
Where they still lie.
Covered in weeds and grass.

The only reason I know that they're still there, is that I called a wonderful man named Glen the other day, who does stuff like this for a living. And he does it beautifully.
Glen simply came out, scraped 22 months of growth off, and said:
"Wow, this will be really easy. It will only take me an hour and a couple of coach bolts - and it will cost you next to nothing.
But I would have thought that the Old Guy would have already done it for you. Has the poor old bugger been sick?"

No Glen, it's just that he has to wash his towels.

Yes folks. It's true. That's his excuse.

"I'll be over shortly. I just need to get this load of towels out of the washer."

"I can't do anything right now. I need to wash my towels."

"How many towels do you wash at a time? I can only fit 6 in my washer, so it takes me all day. And then I need to dry them by tossing them over things in the living room and firing up the wood stove."

See, if we were married and living together under one roof, I could wash his towels for him... freeing him up to do the myriad of little chores around here that he's been promising to do for the last five years.
It would be a win-win situation.
Wouldn't it?

On second thoughts, I don't want to get married.

I want a divorce.

I wonder if Glen is single?

What's worse?

Finding a spider on your towel, when you're standing there nekkid, wet and shivering...

Or finding spider parts... (namely legs and mooshy bits) when you're done drying yourself?

I've had two showers now.... so I know I'm nice and clean anyway.
Still shuddering though.

What's for dinner ?

What's for dinner?
Do you even need to ask?
Not if you live in this household, you don't.
You already know.

Remember that puff pastry pizza I told you about a while back?
Well, it's become my favorite meal, and I've gotten pretty adept at mixing it up and putting new spins on it.
Different veggies, a little sliced salami, maybe some ham and different cheeses, potatoes with rosemary and onions... artfully arranged baby spinach leaves and feta cheese.... the possibilities are endless.

But the Old Guys patience isn't, I'm afraid.

Monday night, he actually said to me: "Not that sissy sh stuff again. Where's the beef? A man needs meat to function properly."

And my part-time permanent-care child with Autism?
Well, he's totally non-verbal and he doesn't (won't) use sign language... but he sure as heck has become adept at getting his point across as well.
I swear that he swore at me the last time he saw the veggies come out of the fridge.

So last night, I took pity on them.
They got bacon and eggs and pancakes for a change.

And they were so grateful, that they literally slurped it up.
I had to tell them to slow down and masticate their food properly.

Just because I like saying masticate.

I mean... how often do you get a chance to really say masticate?

• Billy Bob, how many times have I told you not to masticate with your mouth open?

• There I was... masticating, when the preacher walked up to me. I was so embarrassed.

• If you're going to keep masticating like that, in view of everyone in this nice restaurant... I'm going to ask you to leave the table.

• There I was... sitting on the couch, masticating my burrito, when I bit down wrong and bit my tongue.

There.
I've gotten it out of my system.
You can thank me later.

But getting back to the pizza...

Y'all know how hard I work, right? I'm up at 4:30-5am, just to start in on the cleaning, prep work and setting things out for the day... and I like to still have a chance to take a shower before the rug rats start arriving at 7am.

Then I work until 5 or 6 o'clock , and by the time I shove the last parent out the door, begging them to take their cranky, booger-flicking child with them, I'm beat.
BEAT I tell you!

The last thing I want to do at the end of an endless day, is start in making another mess that only I will clean up properly.
The Old Guy is good and he'll do the dishes for me... I'll grant him that, but still.
I have an obsessive-compulsive need to make sure that everything is washed properly, and everything is in it's place... and no knives or scissors or sharp objects are left out for little ones to grab the next morning.
I'm funny like that.
I hate the sight of blood.
Or the thought of poked out eyes.

So this pizza stuff is ideal.
It's quick.
It's easy.
And it's healthy as... with all those veggies and all.
And little or no clean-up involved.

But even that is becoming too much like work.
Tonight, I'm going to set everything out in cute little bowls and let them make their own pizza's.

I just don't feel like masticating.

Help?... purrtty please? & cat stuff

Have I told you lately, that I love you?

Well, I do.
Really.
I was a neophyte when I started this blogging stuff... and I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing.
But with your tips and pointers, I finally got the ball rolling... and the rest is history.

I now have the ability to bore the pants off of potentially millions of people, whereas before... well, I was limited to only a select few.
They probably thank you too.
The "select few", I mean.

I've learned (thanks to you guys) how to make lines through posts, how to do the linky thing and send people elsewhere.
(where they go and never seem to come back... Strange that.
*scratching my head in confusion* But I digress)

I learned how to change the date on posts that I started eons ago... and never got around to finishing.
I can move widgets and feedjits and count my visitors and see where ya'll are coming from.
I am BLOG WOMAN, hear me roar!
And it's all thanks to you.

But... what all this sucking up is leading to, is something fairly simple.
I think, anyway.

See, Kristy Kay, over at Kristy Kay's Frugal Way is having trouble with her blog, and I don't have a clue as to what to do to help her.
So... if you wouldn't mind doing me a favor, would you go on over, and see what kind of help you can give her? She explains it all on her blog, but I'm hopeless with this kind of stuff.
Kristy Kay is the daughter of dear Marilyn over at Marilyn's Money and I LOVE the girl(s) and just want to help.
So could you have a look?
Purrtty please?

I'm begging here.
~~~~~~

Now... on to my babies - and me.
They're doing fine, and they seem to be feeling much better, so fingers crossed that the one round of meds is going to do the job.
My old Jazzy started in sneezing last night, but I have enough tablets to keep everyone happy, so all we can do is wait and see.
It just pains me, you know?
When my babies are feeling all snotty and yucky, I feel their pain... because I love them.

But me? I haven't been sick at all.... I just want to reassure you on that point.
Yeah, I've got the sneezes and yes, I did want to just lay around and be lazy yesterday, but after a week of dealing with 4 children under 3 years old, can you blame me for feeling too pooped to pop? I just love laying around, covered in a pile of pussy cats and reading the day away.
And I've got to tell ya, Barbara Kingsolvers book
"Animal Vegetable, Miracle" is a fantastic read!!

Now, this morning? Omg... when I came out into the lounge room /living room, ready to start back to work... every cat toy known to man or kitties was scattered and tossed around - from bell balls to feathered things, right down to every single one of their stuffed toys.
They were ALL out, so the cats must have been feeling pretty darn good last night, to somehow get Bear's favorite "baby blue beanie bear" up on top of the door!

Maybe they're just conning me, eh? I wouldn't be surprised, because quite frankly,
I've been conned by plenty of men (and kids too) in my life... so why not cats as well?

They already con me by twining around my ankles in the morning, following me to the toilet and giving my knees kitty smooches... and then constantly telling me how much they love me...
But once they get my GOOD expensive organic milk in their bowls, they drink it up and then ignore me until they want some more. Or want outside.

So am I conned? Yes.
Do I care? No.
Hey, what can I say?
I live to serve.

Just ask my cats.