"The Gummint done falled. It done falled on my haid!"
Admit it. You've done it.
Had a conversation with your pet.
And not just a conversation where you talk to your pet. A conversation where you, or another person, provides the pet's half of the conversation.
Thus was it last night when Husband and I settled in front of the television to watch the long-awaited, not-at-all-anticipated non-confidence vote which would dissolve the current Liberal minority government and give us what we didn't want for Christmas - an election campaign.
We were watcing CTV Newsnet, waiting for the vote, and talking about the relatively odd events of our respective days (which, in my office, included holding an information session for immigrants learning English as a Second Language reassuring them that "the Government falling" was a relative concept, everything would be fine, and they did not need to hide the children and convert their meager savings into soon-to-be-worthless cash).
Veronica was dozing contentedly at the foot of the bed, and Husband jokingly said, "Veronica! Veronica! How can you sleep like that? Haven't you heard? The Government is falling!"
I, wrapping Christmas pressies on the other side of the bed, provided Veronica's alleged half of the conversation:
"Is it goin' to fall on me?"
Husband: "Well, no."
Veronica: "Is it going to fall on mah haid?"
Husband: "Well, no."
Veronica: "Well, I just don't care, then."
And that would have been the end of that, except that we watched the vote; as expected, the non-confidence motion passed and the Government fell; and, in tossing a wrapped Christmas present to join the pile of wrapped gifts at my feet, I miscalculated and bonked poor, dozing Veronica right on the haid.
"Oh, my God!"
"Oh, no! Veronica! Veronica! I'm so sorry!"
"Oh! Poor Kitty! The Government fell right on her haid!"
The word "disgruntled" barely begins to approach the face of a cat who has been accidentally beaned by a holiday gift. I didn't realize before that she could swear telepathically, but I do now. And in a final gesture of utter contempt, she did not leave, nor did she even move, much. But she did tuck in her haid.
away from the hazards of falling Governments, stupid Mamas, and all other slings and arrows a poor, poor kitty gotta face.