Not without my woobie

I think Otis knows I'm going to throw away his cow.

See, I can't throw it out just yet. The garbage doesn't go out until Friday, unless I don't have enough to make it worth my while this week, in which case it won't be until next Friday. And if I put it in the garbage before then, he WILL dig it out. I don't care if I lock it in a bank vault. I'll come home one day and he'll be sitting on top of a ski mask and a lockpick kit with the damn cow in his jaws.

But, yeah, he knows it's going away. First it was the new mouse, and now he's taken to hiding it in his "fort." The drawer of my desk is usually open so I can dig through my notebooks, and so there's this big empty hole behind it, so ... fort.

I closed the drawer and he's giving me dirty looks, so I think it's under there right now. HEEEEE.

He's also taken to bugging the crap out of the chins. He keeps licking the cage bars (dude, I don't even KNOW) and when Emmett bounds over all, "What the hell are you DOING, you big skeeve?" he reaches through the bars and smacks her one. I'd stop him but she keeps smacking him back with her little paws and it's the funniest damn thing I've ever seen. Only in my house would a cat and a chinchilla get into a slap fight.

In unrelated news, I've finally started my apocalyptothon assignment. And I should probably get on that getting-pinch-hitters thing. *sigh*