Basically, I would like to live the life of my cat, Ruski. I mean, I am *pretty sure* I could handle sleeping whenever I wanted (all day), having the house to myself most of the time, and (if I had an owner like me) food pretty much whenever I liked.
That's right, I am jealous of my cat.
Extremely jealous.
There would no dusting, vacuuming, or washing to get done... In fact, the hardest thing I'd have to do as Ruski is to try and *not* cough up a furball on the carpet (or alternatively, try *to* cough up a furball on the carpet when the right mince meat isn't hand delivered and separated into pieces in my bowl).
I mean, is this not the life? Lying in the sun:
Passed out on a comfy bed:
Eating ice-cream cake from a bowl:
Sure, I spoil him. But he is my baby. A big one. (He isn't fat, just big-boned.)
Yep. Jealous.
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