Or if you're thinking of getting a cat, the following is ALL true:
wake-up call

From: [identity profile] stephen-dedman.livejournal.com


Now you know why we lock the cat out of our bedroom at night.

Well, that, and the time a 4-kilo tabby leapt from the top of the wardrobe in the opposite corner of the room onto Vic's chest, and the time the Siamese dropped a dead cockroach into Elaine's navel...

From: [identity profile] sclerotic-rings.livejournal.com


My old cat Jones not only hunted roaches, but he used to herd them. Dallas is overrun with "palmetto bugs", giant roaches so fearless that you can just hear Bill Paxton screaming "Game over, man! Game over!" every time you deal with one. However, they were afraid of Jones, who'd chase them underneath furniture. This became obvious whenever I'd move: picking up the couch or dining room table and discovering five or six mummified roaches from where they'd wedged themselves underneath the furniture leg was a joy. Not as much as having to shoo Jones away because he'd see them and practically yell "JERKY!", but a joy nonetheless.
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