So, I honestly don't remember the last time I got as thoroughly, intensely, blood-boilingly pissed off as i was a few minutes ago. My heart has only just now stopped its pounding.
First, a little background. We had a big flower pot on the front porch. For approximately 2.5 weeks it had flowers, a few more weeks flower carcasses, and for the last 9 months or so, dirt. Until Molly (our cat) started crapping in it recently, with no regard for the mental wellbeing of her audience, who may be sitting as close 2 feet away. So, we had to move it off the porch.
About a week ago, Molly was outside on the porch by herself for a while, and she took it upon herself to pee on one of the back pillows that i like to sit on for extra butt cushion, and shit in the corner where the flower pot used to be. Then Chris left her out on the front porch overnight. She went ahead and ate a frog, barfed on a padded folding chair and peed on the 90 dollar Pier 1 cushion for the wicker bench. Butthole. THEN, and only then does she decide to bust through the screen of the porch like some kind of feline Incredible Hulk, and roam the streets all night. She couldn't have done that when nature was calling from her every orifice??? This cat is on a rampage. *It should be noted that she again peed on the spot that I usually sit in. I am beginning to suspect that this cat hates me.
Well today, she has been bugging the crap out of me, meowing like mad. She wants in, she wants out, she wants food, etc. I cater to her every whim all frappin day. She's been out on the front porch with me. She's been inside with me. I start watching a news program on TV, and she starts the isane whiny meowing again. I already fed her, so I get up to let her out, but she won't go out either door. So I sit back down. A few minutes later, I smell the unmistakeable aroma of cat piss, truly the stuff of nightmares. Shit! I jump up and run toward the smell, and there's a huge puddle of piss on our bed. On my side, naturally. I yank the sheet off, trying to save the memory foam, but it's too late. Now I notice the edge of the down comforter is in it, too, and I'm on the verge of something between an aneurysm and a nervous breakdown. When I go to grab an old towel to sop up the putrid mess, I discover in the hall a large pile of turds, and suffice it to say, I am not one to shit on the carpet. Perfect. Perfect!!! What, has she been saving up for a fucking week for this shitapalooza?
My new discovery puts me completely over the edge. I clean that up, while hurling profanities at noone in particular, and leave Chris a rather excitable voice mail informing him that HIS cat is a MotherFing asshole. How come he never answers his phone during true crises like these? Then I return to the mess on the bed, getting madder every second, because with every passing second the smell seems to get worse, and now I have cat piss on my HANDS! Bear in mind, by this time, I have taken complete leave of my senses. Well, all my senses except maybe smell, so I now begin to chase the cat. Something good is going to come of this tragedy, I have determined. She runs behind the couch, I pull the couch out and am right behind her. She goes under the bed, I'm right there with her, literally slinging a sock at her. I'm not kidding. Like I said, my brain wasn't exactly running on all cylinders, and it was the first thing within reach. I'm screaming, furniture's flying, but I eventually corner her. And that guilty little varmint couldn't even look me in the eye! I guess I've just lived with dogs for too long. Because I took that little turd into the bedroom and I put her nose on that soiled sheet and we had a brief, albeit heated and one-sided discussion about the propriety of pissing on it. We then went out to her litterbox and informed her that this is where such activities were to take place in the future.
And then I tossed her bad ass out the back door. It was for her own good. Trust me.
First, a little background. We had a big flower pot on the front porch. For approximately 2.5 weeks it had flowers, a few more weeks flower carcasses, and for the last 9 months or so, dirt. Until Molly (our cat) started crapping in it recently, with no regard for the mental wellbeing of her audience, who may be sitting as close 2 feet away. So, we had to move it off the porch.
About a week ago, Molly was outside on the porch by herself for a while, and she took it upon herself to pee on one of the back pillows that i like to sit on for extra butt cushion, and shit in the corner where the flower pot used to be. Then Chris left her out on the front porch overnight. She went ahead and ate a frog, barfed on a padded folding chair and peed on the 90 dollar Pier 1 cushion for the wicker bench. Butthole. THEN, and only then does she decide to bust through the screen of the porch like some kind of feline Incredible Hulk, and roam the streets all night. She couldn't have done that when nature was calling from her every orifice??? This cat is on a rampage. *It should be noted that she again peed on the spot that I usually sit in. I am beginning to suspect that this cat hates me.
Well today, she has been bugging the crap out of me, meowing like mad. She wants in, she wants out, she wants food, etc. I cater to her every whim all frappin day. She's been out on the front porch with me. She's been inside with me. I start watching a news program on TV, and she starts the isane whiny meowing again. I already fed her, so I get up to let her out, but she won't go out either door. So I sit back down. A few minutes later, I smell the unmistakeable aroma of cat piss, truly the stuff of nightmares. Shit! I jump up and run toward the smell, and there's a huge puddle of piss on our bed. On my side, naturally. I yank the sheet off, trying to save the memory foam, but it's too late. Now I notice the edge of the down comforter is in it, too, and I'm on the verge of something between an aneurysm and a nervous breakdown. When I go to grab an old towel to sop up the putrid mess, I discover in the hall a large pile of turds, and suffice it to say, I am not one to shit on the carpet. Perfect. Perfect!!! What, has she been saving up for a fucking week for this shitapalooza?
My new discovery puts me completely over the edge. I clean that up, while hurling profanities at noone in particular, and leave Chris a rather excitable voice mail informing him that HIS cat is a MotherFing asshole. How come he never answers his phone during true crises like these? Then I return to the mess on the bed, getting madder every second, because with every passing second the smell seems to get worse, and now I have cat piss on my HANDS! Bear in mind, by this time, I have taken complete leave of my senses. Well, all my senses except maybe smell, so I now begin to chase the cat. Something good is going to come of this tragedy, I have determined. She runs behind the couch, I pull the couch out and am right behind her. She goes under the bed, I'm right there with her, literally slinging a sock at her. I'm not kidding. Like I said, my brain wasn't exactly running on all cylinders, and it was the first thing within reach. I'm screaming, furniture's flying, but I eventually corner her. And that guilty little varmint couldn't even look me in the eye! I guess I've just lived with dogs for too long. Because I took that little turd into the bedroom and I put her nose on that soiled sheet and we had a brief, albeit heated and one-sided discussion about the propriety of pissing on it. We then went out to her litterbox and informed her that this is where such activities were to take place in the future.
And then I tossed her bad ass out the back door. It was for her own good. Trust me.
