It's spring in the great northwest, which means my thoughts once again turn to torturing Katrina with caterpillars. Oh, she doesn't mind them so much. But she's positively phobic about moths and butterflies, which, gloriously, the caterpillars I send her daughter become.
"HE GOT OUT!" seven year old Annalie shrieks as Katrina desperately bats imaginary butterflies out of her hair. "MOMMY! HELP ME CATCH HIM!"
This is an annual tradition, but it's not the only time I've aimed Annalie at Katrina like a shoulder-fired RPG. Meet Cookie, the kid's douchebag of a cat, who tortures Katrina endlessly during her workdays. Cookie came home a day after I introduced said kid to the animal shelter website.
"Look at all those puppies and kitties. No one wants them. If no one takes them home, they'll be killed!" Annalie gasped, horrified by this heretofore unexpected evil. "And look at these horsies over here..."
Hence, Cookie.
While Annalie was at school the other day, Cookie went after the butterflies, mangling their cage and setting them free inside the house. As Katrina recounted how the one Katrina-torturing device forced her to handle the other, I swooned from pleasure. Rapture.
Being a dick simply does not get any better than this.