I think I just sold my couch to a cuckoo-head.
It has actually vacated the premises (the couch and the maybe cuckoo-head) and I have a nervous pit in my stomach. If I could I’d insert those googly eyes that look to the left and right. I’m scared. I’m sad. Couch come back!
My sweet and sassy elderly next door neighbor told me she might have a buyer for my couch. When the person got here she seemed pretty normal, liked all my stuff and said she thought I was crazy to sell any of it. That felt kind of nice. Then she says, Franklin’s your cat, right? And proceeds to tell me about the time she took his (silver with the little bubbles) collar off and put it on her cat.
She thinks our cats are in love and thought it would be cute if her cat had something of Frankie’s. I was all eyes bugging out emoji, checking to make sure the path to the backdoor was clear in case I needed to make a break. The thing is, over the course of the past year, every few weeks or so Frank comes in from outside without his collar. It’s gotten so bad that I keep a freaking stash of collars on hand.
I think this lady is a collar hoarder. And now she has my couch, too.
I’d say TGIF but mostly I’m thinking WTF (have I gotten myself into)?
All I can think of is her sitting on my comfy couch with a string of Frankie’s collars strung across the room like a banner. I’d look out the window and see if her curtains are open, but I don’t think I want to know. #hideyocatshideyocollars