Black, white, and clawed.

The time has come for all good girlfriends to head over to their boyfriend's house to...

let the cat in. That's right. Because the boyfriend's out of town, and we can't have kitty (nameless thus far, though I'll be referring to her as Dickens) running around outside in the cold dark world by her itty bitty kitty self. Instead, she'll be running from one side of the house to the other, skittering across the hardwood floor and launching herself onto the couch once or twice before moving on to the kitchen. There, she'll grab the hand towels off the counter and drag them upstairs to put under nightstands and dressers. Whatever was sitting on these towels will be pitched willy-nilly, like the 4 or 5 tomatoes that were found spotting the tile floor one morning. Oh, and she also likes to drink from the toilet. Even my fat dog hasn't bothered to stump his way up to the rim for a possible quenching. Dickens is obviously amazing.