Cat Ass Trophy

When I was younger I liked cats. Probably because my parents took care of them. And I didn't realize they were helping to worsen my itchy eyes, asthma and other such ailments until later. Of course, with two sisters and a brother, I'm sure the thought of living a life without pet dander was a hopeless dream at best.

I remember seeing a pretty black cat while helping Dad clean up at the drive-in cinema. He said I could have it if it would get in the car. He probably knew I wouldn't touch it. I was neurotic enough (even back then) to know that they'd make my eyes and hands itch. I remember calling out pathetically in my high pitched prepubescent voice, "Heeeeere kitty kitty" with the door open and the magic of "Blackie" jumping in the car with us. I somehow probably ignored the mutterings from the driver's seat. I still don't know what happened to Blackie in the long run although I do remember her multiplying. In fact, I don't know what happened to most of our pets. They just seemed to "vanish" from the house and from my memories, but those are stories for another series of blogs. In fact, the whole inspiration of this blog has taken a most notable Alice-like tangent.

I find most people don't like the tangents. With my dwindling number of readers I'm probably the only one who has made it this far and that's probably for the best. I've never enjoyed offending people and making enemies.

In my 20's some of my greatest relationship woes revolved around pets. In college my fiance ran over the only pet I had feelings for after high school. He was a toy Pomeranian named Snickers (not a cat).

In my first marriage years I still have flashbacks to someone yelling at me, "Just because you didn't want the cat doesn't mean you can just sit there and watch it piss on my clothes!" I've always been quite stubborn and that effing cat used to follow me around the apartment hissing and pissing in equal measures of spite.

It is for reasons stated above that for the last 15 plus years I have had no animals except an occasional fish experiment (which went badly). I just don't do pets.

If you've been reading my ramblings regularly, you may know that I'm getting married next month. Last month, my beautiful fiance acquired two little shit machine effing felines from her ironically puppy-dog teary eyed daughter who had to give them up due to new living arrangements.

I'm all about being sympathetic to her plight, but if you only knew the amount of time I spend researching how to get rid of unwanted cats. It's starting to become a drain. I spend at least one hour per day trying to come up with a plan to innocently get rid of the cats (maybe I should ask my dad).

My whole existence has changed. I work late so I have to see them as little as possible. I have to keep bedroom doors closed so they don't spread their cat dander to my sleeping quarters. One of the hellions has this sore on the back of its neck that won't heal. It's all bloody and disgusting. While I'm at work I imagine it sitting in my recliner and scratching big bloody tuft chunks into my seat.  Therefore, when I come home, I must take time to disinfect my chair before I can sit down and play my normal dose of computer games. The other day I came home and it was shamelessly sitting in my chair, hind leg going at it in a valiant effort to make my brown chair red.

The other hellion reminds me of my old cat "Blackie" a bit. I'm thinking my dad said she ran out the front door and never came back. I need to call Dad and leave the doors open.