Just like Suzanne, I read in my spare time. Browning, my oldest, absolutely hates when I do anything that doesn’t focus on feeding his fat ass.
I bought the Steve Jobs bio that just came out because who hasn’t? I set it down for three seconds on the couch before I start reading, and this is what that asshole does.
Really? You have to sit on the creator of Apple’s face? Douche.
I am a fucking busy person. I work out religiously, I take piano and Spanish lessons, I’ve been teaching myself guitar for the past few months, I’m getting ready to go to Europe in 2 weeks, and I work full-time. Plus I have to cook and clean and do all that domestic bullshit too. Oh and now I guess I’m blogging about my dick cats in addition to all that junk. I’m not complaining; I’m just stating a fact and saying that I’ve got a lot going on and it’s rare that I get any time just to relax.
But every few weeks, the stars align and a miracle occurs. What happens is this: I’ve already worked out that morning, I don’t have any after-work commitments or lessons, I actually leave my office at the same time that normal humans do, and Merry Maids (I know, I’m an asshole) has come that day so there’s no motherfucking pile of dishes waiting for me in the sink. I am able to go home and fucking goddamn RELAX. On these beautiful, magical evenings I might watch something I’ve DVR’d or dick around on the internet. But what I really REALLY love to do is put on some pajama bottoms and my oversized Lil Wayne t-shirt and lay in bed with a good fucking book. Reading in bed is ultimate relaxation for me. Yeah yeah yeah how boring, I’m an old woman, blah blah blah go fuck yourself.
Last week I bought a new book that I’ve been dying to read but haven’t had time to start….until the stars aligned and I actually didn’t have shit to do last night. So, I made myself a hot toddy, put on my loungewear, and got into my big comfortable bed ready to embark on a new literary adventure. I was halfway through the prologue when this bullshit right here happened:
Meet Isis. You might be thinking to yourself, “Oh what a sweet kitty. She just wants to lay on her human and love and be loved.” THAT’S BULLSHIT. This cat is a hate-filled demon bitch. Her purpose in life is to get between you and any joy you might find in life….in this case, quite literally. She saw I was reading. She knew what I was doing. And she purposely laid on me in such a way that I could not see my book. So you’re saying, “Alright, so the cat is kind of a dick, but just move her and go about your business.” Yeah, great fucking idea. Here is how that typically plays out:
Unfortunately the iPhone doesn’t quite pick up the demon growl that was issuing forth from the bowels of Hell itself via this damn cat. But you get the idea. This scenario played itself out about four more times before I gave up and went to sleep after only reading seven pages. And I KNOW she was being a douche on purpose because she was on my chest when I turned off my lamp; approximately fifteen seconds after total darkness, she got off of me and vacated the bed never to return…..until 3 a.m. when I woke up to the sound of her retching up a half-digested silk leaf on the cover of my new book. Well-played, you fucking bitch.
One of my cats…Browning, especially likes being an asshole and he especially enjoys mocking any daily domestic activity that I might actually be caught doing. It’s no secret. I hate cleaning. And being the owner of a very fluffy stupid white cat, it becomes an issue. Eventually.
So, tonight I wanted to start a load of dishes. Naturally, I go under the sink to get a dishwasher soap packet thing… This asshole thinks it’s funny that I’m doing something domestic. This is what he does.
Once in there, he chooses to examine the pipes.
Once he decides the pipes meet his standards, he decides to go to the complete opposite corner of the cabinets.
When I try to retrieve his ass, he pulls the “go limp and stiff and extend your legs to knock everything over that you possibly can while also finding a way to dig your nails into your human’s arm” move that these assholes are so known for.
Really makes you wanna never do housework.
I’ve always been fascinated by a cat’s ability to get itself into the most improbable of places. I’ve found my cats inside kitchen cabinets, recliners, fireplaces, dresser drawers, WALLS….the list goes on. Obviously cats do stuff like this to be douchebags. It’s like they’re saying “Yeah that’s great that you feed me and scoop my shit out of a box, but I’d really like to avoid you at all costs by squeezing myself into this dark hiding place where you’ll never find me. And when you do find me, it’s going to be a real pain in the ass to get me out.”
I recently moved into a house that has a sunroom lined with built in bookshelves; there’s also a shelf near the ceiling that goes around the perimeter of the room. One day I’m going to put a model train up there; that shit is going to be badass:
Shortly after moving in, I noticed when I would wake up in the morning that several of my classy and tasteful decorative art pieces (pictured above) were somehow ending up on the floor every night. My friend, being a man and therefore an idiot, immediately leapt to the conclusion that this must be the result of paranormal activity and that my house was obviously haunted. However, being wise to the dickish ways of cats, I suspected that this seemingly “paranormal” activity was actually the work of something far more sinister, furrier, and fatter. It wasn’t until recently that one of us was proven to be right while the other was just proven to be stupid.
My suspicions as to what was fucking up my decorative shit every night were confirmed when I was passing through the living room and happened to glance up and see this bullshit right here:
I immediately marched into the room and did what any sane person would do and asked the cat (Ernest Hemingway is his name….god, such a dick) just exactly what the fuck he thought he was doing. I was met with a casual stare, followed by a yawn, followed by this little game where he tried to reach down and slap me in the face:
It was at this point that I realized that not only had this dick found a way to get up there, but I also had no way to get him down or to prevent him from getting up there again. So I have since had to remove all of my breakable shit from the shelf to accomodate his fat ass because he keeps finding a way up and down to that fucking shelf. It’s been weeks and I still don’t know how he gets up there; like all other cats, he does that when I’m not around so he can keep his secrets and thus keep me from finding any way to thwart his douchebag activities. All I know is that he’s going to keep doing it, just like his Siamese sister will keep pulling all of the clothes out of the dresser so she can sleep in the drawer and just like his brother will cram his fat ass into my kitchen cabinets….and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Cats don’t really care if it’s cold out. Or hot out. Or if your hands are full of grocery bags.
That ass is Browning.
If you’ve come across this blog by accident, then let us apologize now. We cuss. We’re angry. And we don’t care if you’re offended by that. In a way, it makes perfect sense that we own cats, because cats don’t give a shit either.
If you’ve come across this blog because you’re one of our friends, then we should probably apologize to you too, for the same reasons listed above. If you’re family, then we’re definitely sorry…we’re not sorry.
If you’ve come across this blog because you agree with us…that cats are INDEED dicks…then welcome! We’ve been expecting you.
Just to get some housekeeping stuff out of the way…
Suzanne is not very adept at blogging, so the person writing most of this is Catherine. But to be fair, her cats are bigger dicks than mine, so she has funnier material, and it all balances out in the end.
We (I, Catherine) will update the blog as often as possible. But since our cats are such assholes ALL THE TIME, we’ll try and limit posts to, like, once a day.
PS–We don’t care if your cats are dicks. This blog is about our cats.
That dick in the picture is one of Suzanne’s cats, Jaegar.