Still the rottenest. Go us.

Proof positive that anyone seeking the rottenest of the felines doesn’t have to go much further than the foyer of my house. As usual, the little darlings (and I say that with all the latest in dripping-sarcasm technology) have been extraordinarily helpful with all house chores and activities, ranging from reading to room-painting.

(Click on a photo to get a larger version.)

Think you’re going to be the only one sitting in that chair? Think again:

Anyone wishing to sit on this couch will need to contact the owner, who is currently unavailable at the moment due to an unfortunate and unforeseen encounter with a rogue sunbeam:

Since the couch is taken, perhaps you thought you might get some computer work done? Not so fast. Fang-the-smaller is in full maharajah mode, and expects adoration:

Planning on repainting the bedroom? The feline inspection of color chips is supposedly rigorous and grueling, but it looks an awful lot like naptime to the untrained human eye:

Once the color passes inspection, you must breach the Guard of the Sleeping Cat in order to tape down the trim for painting:

Mission accomplished? Cats gently shooed out of the way so that painting can begin? As soon as the fumes come out, they take their refined (some might say prissy) little noses elsewhere. By the time you stagger out of the room, high on paint fumes and achy from standing on the ladder, you find that Fang-the-smaller has dismissed painting as too much work and gone back to his prior job, shameless laziness:

(Remember, this is a majority-orange cat.)

It’s a wonder I get any painting done at all with all this help.

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