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But I'M NOT BITTER...
The Goddess of battle, strife, and destruction explains it all for you
by

DATE

May 21, 2005

 

Last weekend, I received a lovely handmade flowerpot with a gladiola just starting to emerge from the earth. Since my green thumb has invariably proved lethal in the past, I asked a florist how to care for it.

 

"Water it - but not too much. If the soil is moist, leave it alone. If itís been planted in good potting soil, youíll probably have to water it less. Itís not difficult - just touch it once a day and donít water it unless it seems to be nearly dry."

 

The next morning as I staggered into the kitchen for coffee, I paused to check on the plant. The earth was still damp and it gave off a rich, loamy scent. I left it alone. The same thing happened for the next few days and when it didnít need watering on the third day, I was quite impressed. The florist was right: this was easy. The plant seemed to be thriving and all Iíd done was set it on the dining room.

 

I couldnít sleep on Wednesday night, and gave up all hope of it at about 5 a.m. on Thursday morning. I got up to get some coffee and check my email.

 

As I approached the dining room, I thought I saw a strange shape in the middle of the table. It was dark, so I couldn't really make out what I was looking at.

 

I flicked the switch, flooding the room with light -- only to discover Ivan crouching over the flowerpot, pissing into it for all he was worth.

 

Startled, he turned to face me. For a moment we both froze.

 

"You little shit!" I roared, murder in my heart. Before I could take a step towards him, he flung himself desperately off the table and bolted out of the room, knowing he was in for a shower if I caught him.

 

He streaked down the hall, a black blur against the hardwood. I was right behind him bellowing curses at him like a madwoman.

 

I could hear his claws scrabble frantically against the floor as he made the sharp turn into my bedroom without even slowing down. He shot under the bed with only seconds to spare.

 

I bent down, thrust my face under the bed and glared at him.

 

"You just wait, you little bastard," I said menacingly. "Youíve got to come out eventually and Iíll be waiting."

 

He stared back at me complacently, knowing that Iíd have to tear the room apart to extract him. He even had the audacity to yawn and close his eyes, as if Iíd been boring him. I was ready to wring his neck.

 

Instead, I grabbed and filled a water gun -- I returned to the bedroom, lay down on the floor, took careful aim and didnít stop squirting him until the gun was empty.

 

Ever since then, heís been at his most ingratiating - rolling over to show me his belly, rubbing against my legs, jumping into my lap, etc.

 

And oddly enough, the plant is doing quite well.

 

Till next time,

 

Morrigan

 



Copyright© the Morrigan & Heartless Bitches International (heartless-bitches.com) 2004
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