I must confess. I have a weakness. Call it a vice, an obsession or even an addiction. I'm not proud of it, I think it weakens me. But I have promised myself to always be completely truthful in this blog thingy and therefore would be remiss if I were to hide this basket of dirty laundry. So here goes. I can only hope that you can overlook this shortcoming.
I love wads. There I said it.
Not just any wads. I am as selective in my choice of wads as I am in my hairball thingy placement. The proper wad should be 2-3 inches in diameter. It must be made of either note pad paper or that slightly foily stuff that candy bar wrappers are made of. It must not be so tightly mooshed that it fails to make the proper crackly sound. It can NEVER be made of newspaper as that smacks of recycling and therefore annoys me.
Unfortunately, the manufacture and deployment of wads requires the assistance of a two legger. I have spent much time in the training of my two leggers, teaching them the proper assemblage and launch techniques. The irony being that they honestly believe that they have "trained" me to "fetch". It was a long, incredibly tedious process (two leggers can be dim) but they seem to have finally gained at least a rudimentary understanding of what is expected of them.
The hardest thing to teach them was the proper trajectory of wad flight. The wad should should always be thrown so that it forms a perfect parabola of 45 degrees. This allows me time to get under the wad as it begins its' freefall and then bat it out of midair if I so choose. If I choose to allow it to land, the angle enables the wad to skitter across the floor so that I can show off my incredible hockey skills.
After smacking the wad around for several minutes to prove my dominance over all things paper, I then pick it up and return it to the two legged wad launcher and wait for the next round. This can continue for hours.
I have tried several times to introduce my feline minions to the pleasure of the wad, but have thus far failed to stimulate their interest. Tiger Lily just whines about all the smacking involved, and Ivan has a fear of all things round.
There, now you know my dirty little secret. It's out there. Deal with it.
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