Planet of the Cats

Warning: As I am incredibly "grumpy" at the moment, this blog will more than likely be loaded with expletives.


That being said....FUCK. 

While it is all well and good that Christine wants to rescue every fucking cat on the planet, one at a time, it has hit the point where I am about to lose my mind. I was completely against getting the first two, and only after a solid 2 weeks of cajoling, begging, whining, sob stories, etc., I finally caved. We now have 2 furry pains in the ass that run around the house chasing what I assume are ghosts because there's fuck all I've ever seen them pounce at. They usually choose the precise moment the baby has gone to sleep to start stampeding around the house. If I didn't know they were cats, or if I were blind and working solely off the sounds involved, I would assume that a small heard of deranged buffalo had somehow entered the home and, since the home can in no way be mistaken for the Great Plains, are rushing back and forth fighting over a stray piece of whatever it is that a deranged buffalo would find appetizing. The curtains have claw marks in them. The table cloth looks as though a miniaturized Freddy Krueger found access to the table cloths dream world and has been trying desperately to kill it. 

Now we are baby sitting a third one of these monumentally useless animals until it can get packed off and sent to her friend Melissa. It should be noted that none of this was discussed with me, and she has made several posts claiming that I most certainly would not want a 3rd cat in the house. But lo', it's here, occupying the bathroom whose door we cannot open lest the other 2 cats get in and attack it. But that's fine. We have another bathroom. Which currently houses the litter box for the original 2 cats in the shower. So, apparently, until this 3rd beast is on its way to North Carolina, I am going to have to pray for rain and rush outside to get a shower. We're going to have to clean the baby in the sink until this happens because we can't bring her anywhere near either shower until they have both been scoured by a full HAZMAT team to prevent illness. So, essentially, the baby and I will just remain filthy until the massive inconvenience caused by a 5 lb feline has been removed. Pain in my left arm means I'm happy, right? My chest is getting tight with love.

Here's a hint, people. I don't give a flying fuck how "cute" you think an animal is...DON'T FUCKING FEED IT! You're doing more harm than good, because NOW this creature has lost its natural instincts for hunting food and just assume that some big dumb biped is going to pour crunchy vittles out for it, and will wander around borderline starving until this happens. You want to help them? Call a shelter or Animal Control or something. I'm sure a casual browsing of the Yellow Pages would produce local phone numbers for some Humane Society endorsed animal retrieval squad or something. 

So, in closing, when the new one ships out, I'm putting the other 2 in with it. Get your damn paws off me you damn dirty cats.

FML.