Cats. Cats are terrible. They poop in the house but don't flush. They lick their own private triangle. It's called private for a reason, you sick animal. They claw, hiss, and then move too quickly for me to kick. I believe that they come straight from Satan, along with Billy Mays (see what happened to HIM?!) and Donald Trump's hair.
When the ASPCA commercial with the mournful Sarah Mclachlan song playing in the background features cats being rescued from so-called terrible conditions, I feel nothing, and by that I mean a total absence of anything. But show me a dog in those same terrible conditions and I can't get my wallet out fast enough. Show me the cat and I just mute the TV and wait for it to be over.
So imagine my dismay when my alleged daughter brought home a kitten a few weeks ago. Of course, there was a sob story attached to the animal and the alleged daughter implied that if I told her she couldn't keep the animal, the daughter might was well smother herself in her sleep. It was all very dramatic.
I gave her 2 weeks to find a home for the animal. And I told her I didn't want to hear it, smell it, or see it. And also, if it rubbed my leg I would not hesitate to impliment Newton's law of inertia: an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force...like, say, a WALL.
Exactly 32 hours later, the alleged daughter left for a friend's house and the animal started meowing. Loud enough for me to hear it. I put on my kickin' boots and went looking for it. It was sitting in front of the door through which the daughter had disappeared.
Now, I was under the impression that cats were dignified animals. The Egyptians thought so and they were smart enough to pull your brain out through your nose, so I figure they might've been on to something. Wrong. This meowing animal sitting in front of the closed door could not have been more pathetic.
I picked it up. I felt the universe shift and for one split second, I shot rainbows out of my ass. True story. It was beautiful.
Now I like the damn thing. I haven't thrown her one single time. Despite the fact that the alleged daughter named her Hosanna. Despite the fact that she gets under my feet and walks across my laptop keyboard. Despite the fact that she throws her leg up over her ear and...does things to her parts right in the middle of the livingroom.
Damn you, Satan.