Did you know that the Internet has the potential of advancing the intellect of our civilization through shared knowledge and communication? At least this is what I’ve been told. However, somewhere down the timeline since its creation, we lost sight of this possibility and have instead devoted its purpose to arguing with strangers online while whacking to porn after posting a picture of our lunch in the hopes that some vapid “Internet personality” will notice.
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My beautiful, talented, gorgeous friend, Claire, shared a video with the accompanying message, “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS YOU MUST WATCH NOW.”
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I’m the type of person who dismantles and stows holiday decorations before the closing credits can roll on TBS’s sixth consecutive airing of A Christmas Story. I have nothing against festive ornamentation, I just despise clutter. However, there was one exception.
This past Christmas, I built a pre-fab cardboard village for the cats, shoveling out money for a gingerbread house, a ski chalet, a theatre, and an RV. (I write for the internet so I make that kind of money.) Seeing how much the heathens enjoyed their village, I didn’t have the heart to chunk them in the trash (the cardboard buildings, not the cats).
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I don’t know which one of the heathens did this or why, but this is the reason they shouldn’t have nice things.
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As I type this, Predator Face is literally bouncing off the walls. I don’t know what has gotten into him, but he is galloping up and down the stairs, racing through the living room, swatting at toys as he scurries by. And yes, occasionally he pauses to jump into the air and pounce against the wall. His tail is fully erect. His pupils are dilated as wide as his eyeballs. And despite what you are imagining, it’s not cute. It’s irritating as Hell because this pecker has been running wild like a caffeinated toddler since 4:30 this morning, and I am fucking exhausted.
It was the sudden, sharp clattering that woke me. The first one sounded like something plastic and hallow smacking against the master bathroom’s stone, tile floor. After a blessed, silent pause (but before I could drift back to sleep), something smaller (but more solid and with the hint of a liquid center) landed and skittered across the tiles.
While lying on my stomach, head facing the bathroom, I mustered the strength to flex my eyelid muscles, straining to lift them open. The highest I could raise them was half way. Once my sight adjusted, I realized the sun had yet to peep over the horizon, and by the glow of the bathroom’s night light, I observed the silhouette of a hairy asshole sitting on the bathroom counter, nudging shit over the edge, seemingly astounded by the concept of gravity.
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Memorandum
Date: January 13, 2021
To: The Cats
From: Vaughn Household Management
Having a disgraceful number of cats, a gag-inducing amount of body waste is discharged daily. Because of this, management has provided one litter box per feline (three upstairs and one downstairs), and these boxes are dredged twice daily. How these toilets are assigned or shared has always been left up to you as management has more important things to do than divvy toilets.
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If you ever need a warm and cozy bed for your cat, apparently a slow cooker will do. Just make sure to keep it on the ten-hour setting. Predator Face said the four-hour setting is a butt scorcher.
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Dear reader(s),
I appreciate you. All of you.
Thank you for reading me. With so much more out there to scan your eyes over, for whatever reason, you have chosen to spend some of your time absorbing my words. Thank you. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for your comments and feedback. Thank you for letting me enjoy writing.
And to show my appreciation, here are pictures of my cats (I wish I could give you more).
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In my experience, the more time stacked on a relationship, the lighter the expectation. Fifteen years ago, spending time with my future husband was an endeavor, a planned scheme to win over and anchor his commitment. In pursuit of his devotion, each date and occasion had to create a moment that surpassed the one before. A date to a movie progressed to a picnic by the river that eventually advanced to a spontaneous, overnight trip to Alabama for a KISS concert, and before I knew it, I had surprised him with a trip to London just so he can experience his favorite musical, The Phantom of the Opera, on its home soil. Nowadays, though, my wallet and I are grateful that an acceptable level or relationship maintenance is an evening on the sofa, sharing a movie and a bowl of pomegranate seeds while chaperoned by a balding cat that lounges between us on a towel matted in clumps of its own long, black fur.
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You can find some weird shit on the internet. And you don’t even have to look very hard for it.
It makes me wonder if we shouldn’t just shut down the whole thing.
Exhibit A:
Exhibit B:
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I once read an article that shared eight things I should never do to my cat. While it was a pleasant reminder of general cat care, we live in an age where companies have to label hair dryers with warnings so people won’t fry themselves with it in a running shower. Because common sense doesn’t seem to equate common practice, I feet it’s necessary to share eight more (specific) things that people should never do to their cats.
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I wrote this back in 2014 but stuffed it in my drafts file after relocating to a new platform. Not sure why. But here it is.
There’s not enough Xanax in America to tolerate the cats tracking litter through your house. Thankfully, frustration is the wicked step-mother of invention. Since I can’t teach the Heathens to wash their paws after using the bathroom (I’ve tried), I have designed a device that can eliminate litter tracking.
Allow me to introduce The Heathen Paw Cleaner 3000 (patent pending).
SMALL PRINT: This device does not prevent litter slinging or sanitize the back paws. These options are being saved for the more expensive 2.0 version.
The litter box, sponge, and cloth all rest on scales attached to a CPU. The mandatory cage hangs from a computerized rig bolted to the ceiling and connected to the CPU.
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Since welcoming Blind Murphy into our home over a decade ago (may he rest in peace), I quickly learned that my heart belonged to handicats. Whether they are gimpy, blind, disfigured, deaf, or a little on the “special” side, handicats are loyal and can give just as much love (if not more) as able-bodied cats. This is why I have reluctantly opened our home to a few others over the years:
- Zoe, an Abyssinian born deaf and with a mild case of cerebellar hypoplasia
- Elvis, a black longhair that showed up at our back door with FIV
- Predator Face, born with a gross hare lip and an extraordinarily expensive case of something called polyploid rhinitis
And then there’s Damien, our maltese. He suffers from a condition in which many can relate: feline resting bitch face.
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I should be vacuuming, but when you’re hit with inspiration, the best way to hit back is to give into it.
I like to think of this as a brief clip of something more feature length because, let’s face it, when you own cats, there are a lot of horror stories to tell.
Here is Predator Face’s movie debut:
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Have you ever wondered what your pets are up to while you are away? Obviously some of you have or else there wouldn’t be such a market for pet cameras in a variety of models from basic surveillance to interactive treat shooter, or how about the millions some of y’all have given to animated movie studios to watch unsupervised domesticated animals with cliche personalities speaking cliche dialog.
Admit it, while we are away, we enjoy imagining our pets having adventures or living the high life based on the personality we assign them. Once upon a time, I had convinced myself that Mr. Tiddles (may he rest in peace) was dealing drugs from our apartment behind my back. Even my husband used to claim that his favorite cat, Elvis, fought crime while we desk jockeyed under fluorescent lighting in our corporate cubicles (but now Elvis is old and his crime fighting unitard has been retired to the attic).
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