Disclaimer: I don’t hate cats; I love all animals alike… except for cats. Animals are the shit, cats are just little shits. So I hate cats but I don’t hate-hate cats, get me?
So this week has been tough. Extra tough, like tough with a cherry on top – except that cherry is a piece of poop; cat poop to be exact-.
Now, I’m not a cat person, never been and apparently -due to recent (and recurring) events- never will be. So I dare you ask me why a non-cat person like me would have a cat in their household, please.
I’ll save you the question and the save myself the pain of yet another vein popping into my head and tell you myself. I have a damn cat because on the day I was born, the stars were perfectly aligned for a miracle to take place, but to my misfortune, a cat happened to push one of these stars out of alignment just like they push every damn cup off of every damn table and then the sky was out of whack and something went wrong and I was mistakenly born into a family of cat lovers instead of my original rad dog-loving (sane) family.
Long story short, I live with a cat (whom I refer to as ‘the damn cat’) and 4 cat people. And despite my continuous efforts to get my family into a 12-step program to cure them of their purring-dependency, the doctors have assured me numerous times that there is no such thing as a 12-step program for cat people; I don’t buy it.
Anyway, allow me not to be a hairball in your throat and get to my point. All week I’ve been dodging life’s metaphorical cat shit but every now and then I happen to step in a shit puddle (by every now and then, I mean methodically every 6-7 hours) but today was the grand finale, today was the shit storm, thanks to the damn cat of course.
The damn cat did not only molest and destroy my favorite yoga mat -which I treat like my own child- as part of its “play”; it fucking peed on my rug.
I mean… seriously…
For the past what? Six years? I have been enduring cat hair everywhere and I do not exaggerate when I say every-fucking-where. One time I found cat hair in my toothbrush and trust me you would not want to find that while brushing your teeth.
People think that I’m a cat person too now because of how often I have cat hair on my clothes. I systematically spend $6 every two weeks on a new lint roller and I’m even considering buying a “My Cat Is An Asshole” cross stitch frame, pin that shit to my forehead.
Tell me now, since when do cats pee outside of their damn litter boxes HMMMM???
Aren’t cats like neat-freaks or something? Don’t they automatically pee in a litter box when one is around? Peeing OUTSIDE the litter box is a dog thing, not a cat thing so WHAT IN WORLD…
Current plans: Making the damn cat read Robert I. Sutton’s The No Asshole Rule.
Update: The book did not work; the damn cat coughed up a hairball on my bed sheets. Currently sleeping on the floor.