Just want to wish everyone a happy Catuday. I hope your home remains clean, your carpets hair ball free, and all litter remains in their respective box.
Please give some love to your heathens from me (if they deserve it).
Archives For humor
Predator Face said he was bored so I told him to do some filing for me.
His work either reflects his incompetence with basic alphabetizing or dislike of being told what to do.
My guess is a little of both.
Other people cats are a more fun to watch than my own because cats belonging to other people don’t flare my temper by galloping through the house at 3:34 am or shitting on the floor. Other peoples cats don’t shed in my house or scratch on my furniture. I don’t have to put other people’s cats in timeout for chewing on their brother’s thigh (weirdos). I don’t have to beg other people’s cats to eat their dinner, reminding them that they liked the can of tuna and chicken yesterday. If you, too, have five cats in your home, you probably understand where I’m coming from. If not, you are a fortunate soul. Allow my life to be a cautionary tale.
If I recall my first encounter with manipulation, my memory will pull me back to swinging on the Lafayette Elementary School playground during recess. A pendulum of children occupied every seat, but Patricia and Amanda felt entitled to a turn. Among the dozen of peers, the two popular yet spoiled puppeteers of young boys selected me.
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Blind Murphy ruined my Sunday by attempting to gouge out my eyes.
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I was bored so I wrote a poem about a handy tool cat owners keep handy.
Shit Scissors: A Poem
I often worry that too many new cat owners have unrealistic assumptions when it comes to the expectations and responsibilities of sharing your home with one or more cats. Because of their romanticized preconception of cat behavior (and for that I blame cat food commercials that hire supernaturally unfinicky actors, cat litter ads that hire one of the few cats alive that actually cover their disgusting waste, and Sarah McLachlan), these stereotypically lonely yet good intentioned people quickly regret their decision. This can result in lashing out when the cat behaves as nature intended it to, returning the cat like an unwanted gift after Christmas, or re-homing the cat who thought it finally found its forever home.
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I often worry that too many new cat owners have unrealistic assumptions when it comes to the expectations and responsibilities of sharing your home with one or more cats. Because of their romanticized preconception of cat behavior (and for that I blame cat food commercials that hire supernaturally unfinicky actors, cat litter ads that hire one of the few cats alive that actually cover their disgusting waste, and Sarah McLachlan), these stereotypically lonely yet good intentioned people quickly regret their decision. This can result in lashing out when the cat behaves as nature intended it to, returning the cat like an unwanted gift after Christmas, or re-homing the cat who thought it finally found its forever home.
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Dear Journal,
Nine years ago, Mr. Tiddles was left behind when his owners moved away. As a matter of fact, the rumor was that when his former owners left, the cat was stranded inside the empty apartment with nothing more than an open bag of cat food. When the new tenant moved in, she kicked him out. With nowhere to go, Mr. Tiddles wasted his days roaming the apartment complex’s parking lot, crouching under parked cars for shade and lapping up the dirty water that collected in the potholes.
Nine years ago, Mr. Tiddles was left behind when his owners moved away. As a matter of fact, the rumor was that when his former owners left, the cat was stranded inside the empty apartment with nothing more than an open bag of cat food. When the new tenant moved in, she kicked him out. With nowhere to go, Mr. Tiddles wasted his days roaming the apartment complex’s parking lot, crouching under parked cars for shade and lapping up the dirty water that collected in the potholes.
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Dear Journal,
So this happened:
I understand if your brain is incapable of processing the oddity pictured, so let me explain. That is my deaf cat, Zoe. She has poor motor skills due to a mild case of cerebellar hypoplasia. Somehow she is face-up, tightly crammed into a bathroom drawer.
You will never truly fathom the length of an hour until you’re trapped in a carful of cooped cats.
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REAR BEDROOM GLASSBREAK ALARM
This is the message that appeared on my iPhone while at the office last Friday.
