So we'll be going to the vet's bright and early tomorrow, lugging both cats with us in their matching carriers. I had hoped that once the one-two punch of Real World/Road Rules: Battle of the Seasons and Real World: Chicago was past us that they would settle down and stop acting like effing lunatics, but no.

Theory One: They really have been traumatized by the whorish screechings of the BMP stable of cretins.

Theory Two: We have a poltergeist who is spooking them. Evidence for this: the people above us had the Christmas lights on their balcony shredded and their patio chair cushions stabbed. Or that could have just been vandals. Not that that isn't scary as well.

Theory Three: Watson is still angry at mr rampy for pinching his tail in a door jamb (total accident!) and is taking it out on poor Pippa.

Theory Four: Pippa is sick and Watson is trying to eliminate her to keep the rest of us safe.

We're hoping the vet will be able to shed a little light on this mystery. I just have to say that I am a bit tired of having to keep them separated 24/7. Dragging yowling cats apart gets old after the first time, and Pippa's penchant for evacuating her bowels when terrified is also not conducive to a happy home life.

Plus the floors are filthy, what with the extra litter from the second litter box we had to rig up in the bedroom, and the catnip I sprinkled everywhere in a (failed) attempt to dope them into complacency. But we can't vacuum, because that would freak Watson out even more.

In happier news, flipping through the channels tonight we caught the pilot episode of the British version of Three's Company (or, rather, the British inspiration for Three's Company), Man About the House. God love the Brits. That was the funniest thing I've seen for quite awhile.

You should all vote in my lovely new poll. Even though I forgot to add "Slow-ass bastard people who almost make the people stuck behind them miss the train by walking reeeeally slowly towards it and then coming to a sudden halt once they are safely aboard, leaving the peeps at their rear to be squashed by the closing doors" as an option.

That's my vote, though.