There is a kitten in the house. His name is Riley. His title, bequeathed unto him by yours truly, is "Kitten of Doom." Also, "Mister Poopie Paws." Both titles fit him aptly. While he is yet but a kitten, he is nearly the size of the room mates' other cat, who is full grown.
She doesn't seem to like this too much.
Nor does she like the activities by which Riley has earned his title. The second one, that is.
Then again, I'm not too pleased by the activities by which he earned his second title, either.
But then, I've never found it enduring for any animal to play with poopies. >_>
...god this cat needs a better hobby...
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Application for an apartment was submitted yesterday. Dunno if I'll get it or not. I hope I do. I'm apprehensive about it all, still. But hopeful. And scared. And worried.
It's nice. It has a lot of space. More space than I probably need right now. It's much closer to where I work. It's relatively affordable.
...but I don't know if I can really afford living on my own... not on what I'm currently making...
-_-;
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Soo... I sort of lost my mind, and wigged out a bit today. Luckily for me, rather than trying to keep stuff in, I talked to "da man" about it all, and he helped to calm me down. It's great to have someone to stop me when I'm busy running around flailing my arms about in a sheer panic.
I just hope he doesn't get tired of me leaning on him... I think maybe I lean too much.
I also think maybe I worry too much.
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...excuse me, I now have to chase Mister Poopie Paws out of my room... where's that squirt bottle...
