monsters in my pocket.

when my pets take ill, they amplify their squeaks four notches up to get their obnoxious ways, get greedier than real farm pigs, and irritate the hell out of me by staying awake till the wee hours. it is nearing 2 a.m now and they are a thousand hundred miles from slumberland. the lights are out, my eyes see a portrait of black, but my firmly shut ears fail to sift out all that munching, chewing, squeaking, purring, whining, and strolling around their little rosy garden. and you think they will love me for sharing the comfort of air-conditioning with them? no.

but bugger, i am too attached. i cannot find rest if they are not next to me. they are my pretty nightlights. i love them, muacks.

anyway, it is rather fun to feed them their medications. for once, i get to be the big bad wolf, and no one gets to call me evil. sniggers. grins. laughs.

on a wackier note, a trip to the vet changes life, in an odd theatre sense. my other half was thrown into a role-playing frenzy earlier. he is the suave surgeon who operates on his patients (read: pigs) with complex mini syringes, watch the sexy droplets of occupational perspiration forming on his forehead; while i am the girlie white nurse who fills the syringes with the yellow-colored magic potions, and wipes the surgeon's forehead gently in poetic fashion. flashback to reality, he is no surgeon and i am no nurse. we are just two idiots who love terrorising their pets. payback time, this is fun.

well, life is interesting. even i am amused as i watch my life roll in the brown muddy swamps.