Her Highness’s Fountain
OK, I’m going to be a self-referencing git. Remember my three part ode to the little criminals? No? Well go look at them already! I’ll make it easy – here’s part I, II and III. Done that? OK. This here is the little one. Also known as chicken, muffin, gata idiota, her highness, princess and Will-you-please-for-the-love-of-all-that-does-not-suck-be-quiet? [That last one is most often said in tones of anguish and frustration at 1 in the morning when she’s wandering round the apartment, yowling with a catnip sock in her mouth.]
This is what I deal with anytime I’m home, even if I was planning on doing unessential things like sleep. She’s thirsty, she wants running water, and why didn’t I read her mind, dammit?
I am so whipped.