17/11/2001 - 10:29 p.m.

Short diatribe.

I hate cats, even with mayo. Well, not really hate, but only tolerate for short amounts of time. Cats and I are not compatible creatures, they're terrible listeners, they never do the things you want them to, they can't be counted on for anything, and they're extrordinarily self centered. They're like me on a bad day, and I can't deal with that, basically.

Anyway, my brother has adopted some stray creature that never even learned to be a proper cat- it's afraid of snakes, mice, you name it... It obviously used to be a house cat, and it's having a bit of an issue adjusting. Mostly because we won't have it inside, and secondly because it's too stupid to find someone who would let it in. It's probably the stupidest cat in the world. Anyway, my brother has a thing for stupid pathetic creatures (how else did he make most of his friends?), so it follows him around every minute he's outside. He's named it Spiffy (which is a tom's name, but it's obviously NOT a tomcat), and treats it like some sort of god. Now, I don't mind that he's a fan, but I'm not too impressed that I'm stuck taking care of it this weekend because he's off at some camping thing. I don't see why someone else couldn't have, everyone else in the house adores it. I don't want the animal thinking that it has some claim to existance from me and that it can come to me with it's problems.

I'm trying to grow my fingernails back. I bite them all the time, and it's basically deformed one of my thumbs and drives people crazy, so I'm trying to grow them back out. They say that after two weeks you've broken a habit. It's been one week. I don't think I can make it another.

Everyone's going to bed. I'm going to watch my movie. YES!