I am NOT becoming a cat lady

Yes, I know I just posted about Felis Domesticus. But you need to see what I have to contend with at home. (Ignore the dusty apartment, made uglier by the addition of the cat's hair absolutely everywhere.)

You can't see me, sitting on the sofa and minding my own business as the beast prowls around the cookie jar (three guesses what I'd been stuffing my face with moments before).

The beast becomes curious. She must like the hippo cookie jar we scored at the flea market.

Or perhaps she's drawn by the sweet aroma of cookies?

No, she just can't leave loose round objects well enough alone. She actually managed to get a cookie out of the jar, but it slipped from her claws before she could bat it to the floor.

I never fail to marvel at the extent of her evildoings, and I offer these photos as evidence of the nastiness felinekind gets up to. But hear this: just because I'm putting photos of my the Other's cat up on a blog, I am by no means becoming a crazy cat lady. I don't even like cats. I particularly don't like Felis Domesticus here, especially when she's conniving ways to steal my sweets.

An innocent face conceals a sinister soul.

As for hippos, more on them as the week goes progresses....