Every marriage has it's ups and downs, highs and lows, ins and outs. For the most part, folks work it out and keep on keeping on. Frankly, if not for the ups and downs and ins and outs, what would be the point anyway?
However, there comes a time when a line is crossed and you can't take it back. You can't get the toothpaste back in the tube. A fart smelt is a fart dealt and there is no going back upon bended cheek. A word spoken doesn't have a pause button, edit, delete.
I didn't see this coming. Not in a million years. She's been talking #### about me behind my back. I guess it's been building up and, starting last night, it's boiled over and it's coming out, like a puke you just knew was coming, just a matter of when and how much.
Well.
'When' started, as I say, last night, and how much has been a freaking tidal wave. A veritable lava flow of puke. In the hall, on the deck, in the kitchen, right at our feet as we were talking this AM. Every five minutes, one of these freaking cats pukes in my general direction. This is no coincidence.
One was on the deck, caught my eye and, assuming she wanted in, I walk to the door and, bam, she starts scrunching up and acting like she's gonna hurl a bus up and, blap, this disgusting little splotch of some white vile bile. She looks at me, lifts her nose, wheels around and off she trots.
Another one runs ahead of me, predicting where I am going and conjures up this mess of half baked sausage, kibble and alien spew that, had it not started eating a hole in the kitchen floor, I'd have stepped right in it. Then, the look; "Oh, sorry about that! Tee, hee..."
Yet another, we're just sitting here and up trots on of them and, with zero fanfare, it's like a python swallowing an entire feral pig, only in reverse. I have no idea how her skull didn't pop pushing this 'thing' out. Now, it's getting clear. This is no longer some sort of bizarre kittie pandemic. It's a message.
Yet another is these hideous log of doom, spun up from what had to be some sort of emergency reserve in their tail as there is NO way anything is left in their tummies, and, squish...this thing, this slowly cooling, multi colored masterpiece of cat puke, this haz mat mega incident, right in my path to go outside and catch my breath before I started really taking this too personal and, there it was, the 'look'.; "Leaving so soon? Drive safe!"
I think she's been telling them that Moose lives outside, where cats belong, and NEVER comes in and they're started to think ahead towards self preservation. I see no reason for Vrail to have even brought this up. It's none of their freaking business and there certainly is no call to spin them up into a kitty hissy fit that was, clearly, designed to provoke some sort of respons.
SO, now, unless I get used to being wretched at all the time, I just don't feel welcome anymore. Vrails's been great. Enjoying ourselves, getting along fine. But, that's a front. She keeps pretending to not notice or that it's somehow normal or I'm just being silly. I say bull####.
So, my question, KX 450F or YZ250? I can NOT make up my mind.
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