For those of you who are fortunate enough NOT to be "friends" with Bleeder on her Facingbooks page, where she complains about me every single day (she tracks in mud, she digs the yard, she brings in and shreds sticks that I have to clean up, she hogs the foot of my bed, she's cold, she's wet, her claws rip my flesh...) so I provide a morning review of her horrific choice of clothing. I think it's only fair.
One of the biggest requests on comments is that they want to see her exact outfits. She's hard to photograph. Not only does she try to hide behind things, but the outfits are just too horrific for the camera, so I've done an artist rendition for you of an actual outfit (one I call "the cheese grater shirt" and the green pants).
I hope you aren't eating anything when you see this:
Bleeder also likes to buy me random toys that keep me "enriched" and "entertained". I'm perfectly fine batting at her foot 3 seconds after she's done eating to go outside with me so she can wrestle and chase me around the yard on her full stomach.
She found an "interactive" toy about 3 weeks ago and bought it. I would venture to guess that this toy is the most annoying thing in the history of annoying things (worse than people who chew with their mouth open). Get a load of this crap:
(Turn your speakers up for the full annoying affect).
It came inside a little furry pouch with a tail, and any time you smack it around, it makes that annoying sound and scampers all over the place. It was kind of fun the first time around, but then when it wouldn't shut off, and Bleeder can't figure out how to turn it off, coupled with the fact that this thing is a heavy plastic thing that I've chosen to swing around inside like a mace, threatening the very big, expensive TV, broken bones, and carnage... lets just say it didn't last very long as a viable toy.
Bleeder can't turn it off. I think that when she chucked it off the deck into the yard hoping to break it for good, the turning off mechanism is the only thing that broke.
Now she's stuck with it sitting on the kitchen table because she doesn't want to put it in a trash bag, only to have a garbage man think we're monsters and shoved a small animal into the trash... they'll go through the bags and discover we aren't "recycling" everything like we should and we'll go to jail or something.
She did re-use the pouch to put a regular squeaker ball that is fun to chase, attack, and fling around. It's much lighter and bounces off Bleeder's head nicely without causing a trip to the ER for sutures.
Lesson learned, so now she just gets me squeaker toys. Apparently this is my lesson that there are plenty of squeaker toys available to me and I should stop being all guarding and obsessive about one particular well chewed squeaker toy (that I took to bed with me last night for safe keeping).