Why?

Why do people feel the need to tell me what enormous feet Ted has? Do they really think I'm unaware of the size of the damn things, when he's trying to ram them up my nose at 6am. How does it improve these peoples lives to say, Ohhhhhhhhhh, hes got a lot of growing to do before they fit him, hasn't he, or, goodness, I bet those great feet bring in a lot of mud, or even worse, people who've seen him before, say stupid stuff like, blimey, he's growing fast, what do you feed him? I don't want to hear, he's beautiful, because it's always followed by a great big but. Did their daughter, who was in her third year at university reading Greek literature, run off with a 62 year old, married psychology professor, who'd spent most of his life living in a commune, talking to hydroponically grown carrots, smoking weed, and wearing tie dyed t-shirts? Is that what it is? The abject misery of my situation makes them feel better? Yeah, well I should be available free on the NHS, because I could make most people feel a heck of a lot happier about their lives. The people who take for granted there will be at least one loo roll from a 12 pack, that doesnt look like hamster bedding, the ones who can guarantee there will be a towel in the bathroom, pillows on the bed, indoor plants in their pots instead of behind the cushions on the sofa, the sad people who don't automatically go to the hovel when they want to mash potatoes, because they know thats where the masher will be, or the idiots who think you should start the day with coffee, when I know that valium and scotch is the way forward. Yep, no doubt about it, I could save the NHS a huge amount of money. If you think your life is crap, get yourself a Spinone puppy, and learn what crap is really all about.
Pie was sitting on the sofa earlier today. She was staring into space, which is quite normal for her, but I think she was rocking. Infact I know she was rocking, but I'm kidding myself at the moment that it's because the springs have finally given up the ghost from having three spins constantly jumping on and off it, rather than some deepseated mental health problem. Madge seems oblivious to most of the chaos, and has been smiling from ear to ear for days, because she now has her very own, made in Taiwan, bright blue, plastic, Pets@Home tennis ball thrower. If I'm honest, I didn't really buy it for Madge, I bought it for me, to save myself the embarrassment of having to drag her away from people she tries to go home with who've got one of the damn things. Now Madge wants to come home with me and a lump of blue plastic. Life is good.