Saturday was truly awful. I stayed up all night Friday in anticipation of my flight home on Saturday (I wanted to be able to sleep on the plane). So I left Paris at 4:00 in the morning on Saturday (that would be 9pm on Friday, Texas time), flew to Amsterdam to catch a connecting flight which was of course delayed 2 hours, and then had an 11 hour flight from Amsterdam to Houston (I ended up sleeping maybe 2 hours on the plane…the rest were the worst 9 hours of my life). Once I got to Houston, I had to wait forever to go through customs with a million other miserable assholes, and when that jolly experience was finally over, I got in my car and drove 2 hours from Houston to my house. So I ended up getting home at 7pm Saturday night, meaning I basically traveled for 22 hours straight with minimal sleep.
The whole time I was traveling, I was obsessing over getting home, ordering a pizza, taking a hot shower, and going to sleep for at least 14 hours. However, I failed to take into account the fact that my cats had essentially been on their own for 2 weeks (except for every couple of days when someone showed up to feed them). Typically, if my cats are left alone long enough to forget that I exist (usually about 12 hours), things go downhill fast. My cats go fucking nuts…and I don’t mean in a “I miss my human, I am so sad” sort of way. No….I mean they go nuts as in they party their asses off and break/throw up on all of my stuff.
My house was wrecked….it looked like it had been the venue of the hottest cat rave in town. First of all, there was cat barf EVERYWHERE. Some of it was obviously from where one of these assholes gorged themselves on three days’ worth food and subsequently barfed it back up on the kitchen tile five minutes later. But most of it was from my lovely houseplant, which they ate down to almost nothing and now looks like this:
The dining room centerpiece was destroyed, but I wasn’t remotely surprised by that. They had been eyeing that for weeks and it was probably gone within 30 seconds of me leaving. Shit was broken of course; I actually caught Ernest in the act of knocking a candle off the bathroom counter. I think it was his way of letting me know he doesn’t give a fuck that I’m home and he’s going to keep doing whatever he wants:
But by far the most extreme party rocking the cats did was to remove all of my clothes from my dresser and scatter them all over my bedroom:
Seriously, what was even the point of this?