Haven’t Slept For Nine Lives

(It’s 5:30 am, and I’m just about to leave to go to work after having a rough morning. I’m a nurse with a 12-hour shift to look forward to. As I’m getting my shoes on, my roommate emerges from her room, chipper and perky.)

Roommate: “Good morning, [My Name]!”

Me: *groaning* “Well, it’s morning, at least.”

Roommate: *suddenly angry* “Well, jeez, who peed in your cornflakes this morning? I was trying to be nice!”

Me: “I told you last night that I had to be up at four am this morning, and the friends you invited over made so much noise that it woke me up… and they stayed until 12:30. I took two steps out of my room this morning, and your cat sank her claws into my leg, deep enough to draw blood, and started yowling because she thought I was going to feed her. I finally got to the bathroom and found that your other cat had clawed my brand-new towels down from the rack and taken a dump on them. Now I get to go spend 12 hours wiping the butts of people who either think I’m attacking them, or think I’m their long-dead wife. That’s why it’s ‘morning’ and not ‘good morning.’”

Roommate: “Well, there’s no need to be a b**** about It!”

(I’d been thinking about moving out for a while, but that was the final nail in the coffin. I moved in with my boyfriend just as soon as I could get my stuff packed, and eighteen months later, we still get along just fine. We have a dog; after my roommate’s little monsters, I have no desire at all to get a cat. Last I heard, she still had trouble with them pooping on her bed and linens.)