Cats are even jealous of Christmas.

We’ve established so far that our cats hate when we do stuff that doesn’t center around their fat lives. Like, reading, going to the bathroom, trying to sleep. These assholes are even jealous of Christmas.

After a less than enjoyable day at work, I decided that stopping at Hobby Lobby and loading up on glitter-covered Christmas crap was just the ticket. I even had such a skip in my step when I left that I donated a dollar to that guy ringing the bell with the red bucket. And that’s saying something because I normally pretend to be on the phone and avoid them.

I get home and start decorating and I kid you not, not 10 seconds after I finished a display on my table, this asshole was up to his old tricks.


This picture probably looks pretty innocent to you. Just a curious cat checking new shit out. Wrong. Then he does this:


That picture should tell you two things. I’ll be chasing him off that table every day for the next two months. AND he’ll be puking glitter and beads all holiday season long.

Tis the season.


A little privacy, please: part two

On the slim chance that I think I’ve beaten these assholes into my bathroom alone, I discover that one of them has gone stealth and stowed itself away in anticipation of me coming in there. The funny thing is, what if I wanted to use my guest bathroom? Or, I had no plans to go in there until a few hours later? I’m sure these assholes have a plan b.

So what happens when one of them is in there, and the other isn’t is this shit:


And this shit:


And the entire thing becomes one huge, pretty annoying game that they play until I free the one that’s been locked inside.

Now if Browning is inside the bathroom, and Quigley is locked out, Quigley makes this god awful shriek and claws at the doorframe until I let him in.

There’s seriously no alone time with these assholes.

Cat Asses

Cats don’t give a shit what they set their asses on. Toothbrushes, hair brushes, your pillow, kitchen counters…it all falls prey to their asses. The more contact you tend to have with this object, the bigger urge these dicks have to sit on it.

Case in point:


Browning’s ass is sitting on a toothbrush. That’s right. But this isn’t my toothbrush, it was my sister’s, so I took a picture instead of throwing him off the counter.


Relax a little, asshole.

I always yell at my cats when I get home from work because by this point, I’ve worked for 8 or 9 hours, most likely skipped my lunch break, and sat in rush hour traffic for two hours. Chances are I’m pretty angry and the last thing I want to see are these assholes getting out of MY bed at 6:30 PM. As if to say, “I don’t give a shit that you work and pay our rent. We get to sleep all day. In your bed.”

So every day when I see these assholes run from my room to the kitchen to greet me, they’re met with one of these: “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO ALL DAY, ASSHOLE?”

Most of the time, they won’t even greet me. I have to go find THEM, and this is usually what I find.


Or this.


A cat making a real stupid face.

One of my favorite pastimes is making these asshole cats look like even bigger assholes. I mean, what are they gonna do about it? Nothing really because I feed them and pay their rent.

I know we said that we didn’t care about your cats because this blog was about our cats. But this stupid picture was too great to pass up.

Just a little background information. My mom has two cats: Peanut, which is a sibling to my big stupid white cat, and Trixie, who is hands down the fattest cat I’ve ever seen.

Peanut fancies herself a crap in the bathtub every once in a while. She’s an asshole like that. When she isn’t crapping in the tub, she’s doing this:



Cats have no respect for the dead.

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.

It’s their world. And I’m just living in it.

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.


Welcome to our blog, I guess.


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.