In Which Crazy Cat Lady Becomes Crazy Cat Hater

Cats are assholes.  End of Story.




Actually, it's not really the end of the story. 


If it was, I would seriously be failing at this #500wordsaday even more than I already am.




Last night, I was composing a witty, well-written, explosively funny (I can say that, because it may never see the light of day) blog post, when my asshole cat jumped up onto the table (I STILL haven't found a desk that will fit in my "office") and knocked my water glass over onto my laptop!!! 


Instant panic mode, as I dried off the laptop and tried not to rip the cat apart with my bare hands.


Result - no blog post on Day 2, so I'm doubling up today. 


1000 words.


You're welcome.

Fuggin' animal. 




I seriously hate cats. HATE them.  As I am an Official Crazy Cat Lady (I even have a coffee mug to back that up), i.e. more feline occupants in household than humans, you can imagine the sheer hell that is my life.




I didn't want cats.  Cats suck.

However, my mother 'thoughtfully' gave Lexi a cat for no particular reason, against my wishes.  In fact, more than 'against my wishes', because I actually said, "No, Lexi cannot have a cat because I hate cats and never want to own one again". 


She somehow interpreted that as, "I may be saying I would rather set myself on fire than own a cat, but I really mean that you should promise my child a soft little kitten, thus putting me in the position Asshole Mom of The Year when I try to deny said kitten entry into my home.'




 Communication has always been an issue for us.




 Lexi, of course, fell in love with the furry demon at first sight, and when it spawned 2 kittens, fell in love with them in spite of the fact that we already indicated to some other people they were available. 


Because I suck at parenting and am unable to say no when the lip and the big, fat, slow-rolling tears, and the shoulder shaking sobbing starts, I ended up with THREE FUCKING CATS!!!


Sorry for the language, guys, but I ASK YOU!!! 




THREE CATS just doesn't adequately convey the rage, horror, dismay, and disgust I feel about sharing my life with cats.  They have their own 'room' - very large closet - they each have their own litter box, and they have their own dishes, but STILL!!  It all sucks.




A couple of years ago, I decided I was going to start dating again.  I never got farther than flirting with the idea of a dating website, partially because of the screen name dilemma, but also because I have become Crazy Cat Lady. 




Seriously, who dates Crazy Cat Ladies??




What reasonably sane, non-ChiMo, sex maniac is going to hook up with Crazy Cat Lady?? 




Any takers??




::::::crickets chirping::::::::




See??






So, in addition to requiring that I get far more acquainted with shit -- literal shit -- than I am comfortable with on a daily basis, and that I set aside for them a good portion of my income that could be better spent on sushi, books, and 21st Amendment beer, these fuckers have also made it a certainty that I will not be in a relationship until the year 2025....




That's right, I will be 50 effing years old before I can justifiably cart the Triumvirate of Cock-blockage off to a vet for euthanasia, and will then be free to go out and try to trap some random dude into hooking up with my wrinkled, grey-haired self. 




GAAAAH!!!!




Also, just as a bit of a side note, my cats are totally gacked-out addicts.  I occasionally buy them birthday and Christmas presents (I know, I know, total Crazy Cat Lady behavior, and I probably just ensured that, even at 50, no man is going to want to date me if he reads that statement), usually involving catnip.  Those crazy hookers go bat-shit (cat-shit?) crazy, rolling around on their toys, licking them, and then eventually tearing the toy to shreds so they can smoke, snort, and eat the contents.  Seriously. Crack. Head. Cats.




Unlike dogs, which shower their owners with affection for merely being alive, cats -- or maybe it's just mine -- are the most ungrateful fuckers on the planet.  Never a tail-wag, never a happy yip or even an acknowledgement that you exist and have just bought them food/toys/cracknip, etc.


Also, they wreck your stuff with their claws, and they stick their whiskers up your nose when you are sleeping, causing you to do a sort of double gainer, triple Salchow-type maneuver off the bed, resulting in a neck spasm that incapacitates you for a full day (possible that is just me).




I am not sure if these stupid animals can be entirely to blame for my drinking problem....you know, I was drinking copiously loooong before I allowed my manipulative child to con me into accepting three diabolical, devious, crackhead, slut-bag animals into my home....but I am going to say that they are mostly to blame at this point because I can.


Rotten. Furry. Bastards.



I just read back over this and realized that I used a lot of bad words....Sorry, but this was written in a holy-fuck-did-that-whore-of-a-cat-ruin-my-laptop fog of rage.




My laptop is not ruined, thankfully, but the rage is still here, because I was writing yesterday's brilliant post in Word, and it did not survive the flood, which means I am beyond pissed off because I was actually laughing out loud while I was writing it.....which means, of course, that you all would have been as well- right?




In looking for pictures to post in this blog (I like pictures, I feel they help the narrative, although I have been criticized for it), I Googled "Ryan Gosling Cat" and came up with a bunch of really disturbing Disney-themed-Ryan-Gosling-and-a-cat memes....They were too weird, even for Crazy Cat Lady, so this is what I settled on.



See??  No cat. DOG.  Because he's hot AND smart!!







Until tomorrow....