I have cats, three of them, and they are my children. I really believe that they are in fact the kids I will never have.
Today, felicide, murder of a cat, became a realistic option in my household.
I have been working, off and on, during my few off hours available amongst my student teaching, class work, and two part time jobs, assembling a horribly manufactured amodel RB-57F. I'm kit- bashing it with the Italeri B-57 kit for details and etc.
The main ceter section of the fuselage wings DOES NOT FIT with anything else. It fits together in its two halves, but NOT TO ANY OTHER PART OF THE MODEL! It's almost as if the autocad dude dropped the percentage a few points in the physical reproduction process! I've finally gotten everything together, the engines on the wings, the details painted, it's aboit to be decaled for the up- coming contest in February, and one of my cats jumps up on my desk and steps on the starboard wing...
At least the little furry bastard (yes, he is one) had the guts to look up at me with that (OH S*IT!) look on his face when his foot went just a LITTLE too far and he heard the *CRACK* of the super glue and styrene...
He's already an 'it' so it's not as though that is an option. But I've been working on this kit for over
7 months. He's not getting any squishy food to- morow, I guarantee that!