Saturday, November 3, 2007

My Name is Storm...and I'm a Crotch-a-holic

It's true. I cannot deny it anymore. I need help.

The chewed chair pad is the last straw. Lesli had been working in her office during the morning. She went out, and I went upstairs. I sniffed the chair pad...and I had to have it. I couldn't stop. I was out of control.

When she came home, I acted normal. Then she went upstairs. She didn't yell, she didn't make a sound. But I knew she'd find the chair pad. So I hopped onto the couch, and got ready. When she came into the living room, I wagged my tail as fast as I could, plastered my ears to my head and tried to look as cute and helpless as possible.

I don't know how to stop eating the crotches out of things.

Countless pairs of underwear and pants have paid the price.

I can de-crotch a pair of underwear in seconds. I am stealth. You can try to hide them. But I will prevail.

It's not just underwear. Many, many pairs of flannel pyjama pants in our household have lost their crotches. Workout pants. Any pants, really. You wear 'em, I eat 'em.

I'll even chew the facecloth someone uses to wash with.

I can't stop myself.

I need help.

I just can't explain it.

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