So you’re thinking of fostering kittens…..AHAHAHAHA YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

A few months ago I decided to join the local humane society’s foster program. If you’re not familiar with what it means to be an animal shelter foster parent, basically you take on pets that are too young or sick to be adopted and you take care of them until they are either rehabilitated or old enough to find a permanent home. So I figured I love animals, I’d like to help out the shelter but don’t have time to volunteer, and I have the perfect space to house animals and keep them separate from my own cats (a sunroom at the back of my house).

Besides all that, I figured kittens would be easy. I know how to care for cats, I thought….why would caring for kittens be much more difficult than making sure my own cats didn’t die? In fact, I reasoned it had to be easier than caring for my own cats, since like humans cats become more evil with age. In my head, I knew it would be perfect…. imagined long Saturday afternoons filled with purrs and sweet little cat babies lounging in the sun and looking very silly whilst chasing ribbons and sunbeams.

I am a stupid, stupid woman.

The first batch of foster kittens were three siblings, and to be honest they weren’t that bad. They did cute things like this:

oh my precious

And this:

there are too many books on the kitty shelf! oh noes!

But they got bigger, and consequently went back to the shelter where they were all adopted and went on to forever homes where they will grow into cats that will someday terrorize their forever families. DAWWWW!

With the next round of fosters, I’ve discovered a rather disconcerting fact. The reason why kittens are so sweet and non-destructive comes from the simple fact that they are small and defenseless. As such, it’s necessary for them to befriend you so that they are afforded some sense of protection until they are older and larger and develop bigger claws and more hateful dispositions. Basically, kittens are just manipulative little bastards that use you to keep them alive and clean up after them, much like babies. With the second batch, I took on nine foster kittens and learned that with their powers combined…they no longer need to be my friend. Like an angry mob armed with endless mews and tiny claws, they’ve overtaken and destroyed everything in their path.

LET US OUT OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES OF DESTROYED BOOKS AND POOPS ON THE FLOOR

Since there are so many of them, they’ve become emboldened enough to undertake escape attempts. Like the velociraptors in “Jurassic Park”, they try to open the doors:

Clever girl.

You can’t walk past the sunroom door without being assailed by taunts and demands:

pssst. PSSSST. I pooped on the bookshelf.

If you are stupid enough to enter the room and attempt contact, you’ll likely find yourself in this situation after being climbed like fucking Mount Everest:

How can a cat be only 6 inches tall, yet somehow always have its ass right in your face??

They’ve shredded books. They’ve eaten photographs. They’ve thrown up in their own food bowls and sprayed diarrhea all over the floor right next to their box. Every attempt to enter the room is met with an attempt to escape, usually accomplished by three scaling your legs while the others flee and hide under beds and couches. But there is a silver lining, my friends….

These kittens are healthy and old enough for adoption and are going back to the humane society. After a long and arduous six weeks, it is time for them to find their forever homes, filled with new people that they can forever torture. After tomorrow, I am taking a break from fostering since I plan to be traveling for the holidays and besides that, holy shit I need a break. The nightmare will be over. I will get my sunroom back and it will just be me and my three…..fully grown…….much larger and able to do much more damage….pissed off from lack of attention….holding a grudge and anxiously awaiting the departure of the kittens before they exact their revenge….my own cats….

oh fuck.

If not made for sits, why made of warm?

I’ve been through this before. Cats like to sit in the most unwelcoming of places: sinks, stoves, suitcases, on cell phones, in front of remote control sensors for TVs, arm rests, on pillows when you’re trying to lay on them, books and magazines when you’re trying to read…the list is endless. Basically, cats are saboteurs of all things humans enjoy.

Browning’s favorite spot to lay is on my computer. More specifically, only on my computer when I’m actually trying to get shit done. He never notices it exists otherwise.

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And yeah, you can’t really tell, but I was definitely looking at cat GIFs before I was so rudely interrupted.

If it fits, we sits.

So, I’m going to start off this post by saying today is National Cat Day, and not one of you people have wished us a Happy National Cat Day today. Even though it’s probably not dedicated to cat owners, and created by a cat to celebrate cats’ and their existence on this planet. They’re dicks like that. Like, it’s different than the other 364 days in the year. Moving on now, just don’t forget our birthdays.

Cats are known to sit in precisely the places where they know they shouldn’t. Like, somehow squeezing their bodies behind your tchotchkes on your bookshelf so that when you grab them, they knock over everything.

Last week, I was packing for Los Angeles and got this weird feeling something was watching me.

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Found it.

Then this happened, because it has to happen every time I try to leave. It’s like he’s staging his own little cat sit-in.

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It’s his way of punishing me for leaving, as if to say, “Fine. You can go. But I’m just going to cover the inside of your suitcase with cat hair so you look like shit the entire time you are gone.”

Cats only pretend they know what they’re doing.

Cats exude quasi confidence.

Walking on a one inch wide window ledge? Doesn’t even matter if they fall because they meant to do it. Eating fake flowers? They just love puking up plastic. Accidentally sitting their cat asses on your plugged-in flat iron? Hello, their hair was starting to crimp.

So, it’s no surprise that these two assholes pretended to be able to track and kill a fly all day long yesterday.

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I became involved AFTER they put holes in my curtains and JUST before they tore the blinds off the damn wall.

Who knew you could capture so much stupid in one picture.

Texas Woman Shoots Her Husband Over Argument About Cat

So, as I was googling Cat News today…

I stumbled upon this little gem of a headline. This story is particularly funny to me for three reasons (and the guy didn’t die, so everyone just relax):

  1. This took place in Texas.
  2. More specifically, this took place in Houston (of COURSE).
  3. Investigators say the couple owns multiple cats, so they’re not exactly sure which cat is the instigator.

But apparently, when Audrey Deen Miller’s husband threatened to hurt the cat, she lost her shit and shot him in the stomach. To read the article written by a more-respectable journalist than myself, you can click here I guess.

More importantly, the cat wasn’t hurt. Most importantly, CATS ARE STILL DICKS. I’d just love to know what shenanigans this little asshole was up to before all hell broke loose.

Mine, again.

This isn’t the first blog post like this, and it won’t be the last because cats are selfish and greedy little assholes predisposed to believe that everything you own is somehow theirs. Even though they’re cats, and what the hell are they going to do with a cheese grater? It doesn’t stop them.

Last night I stopped by Hobby Lobby to pick up a few things; one thing being a flower made out of burlap, AKA cat nip, apparently.

Phase 1: Discovery.

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Phase 2: Surveillance, AKA “Did Quigley see this?”

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Phase 3: Drag Prey to Make Believe Cat Cave and Then Remember You Don’t Have Thumbs.

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Phase 4: Save Face by Rubbing Your Scent All Over it Instead, AKA: WIN.

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Keeping Up with Kim Kardashian’s Kitten

Let me preface this blog by saying I think Kim Kardashian is the biggest douchebag of this century. That said, I’ll watch their reality show until the death of me.

Last week, Kim started tweeting pictures of her new kitten–some teacup Persian bullshit white fluffy thing that probably cost a couple thousand dollars. This is Mercy (…because Kanye wrote a song about Kim called “Perfect Bitch,” Kim returned the favor by naming her cat after a Kanye song?):

The first thing I’d like to say about this picture is thank god I’m not a celebrity, because my two dickhead cats would NEVER let me carry them around Beverly Hills or SoHo like that. Instead, they’d rip holes in my Dolce & Gabbana clothes and then dart off into traffic and get run over by some rich asshole’s Lamborghini Mercy-elago (see what I did there?).

Secondly, yeah, that cat is pretty damn cute. But guess what it turns into, Kim?

This:

Because this is my blog, I’d also like to say I’m tired of celebrities getting kittens and the entire world freaking the hell out about it and being like, “OMG, DID YOU SEE TAYLOR SWIFT’S NEW KITTEN?” “ZOMG, KIM K GOT A KITTEN, HOW CUTE ARE CATS? I TOTALLY NEED A CAT NOW.” For years, people have called me a cat lady…and all of a sudden these two assholes get cats, and cats are cool. Guess what, assholes? Their cats shed all over the place, throw up on carpet, and shit in a box just like mine do, so enough with the judging.

And, this is just because I hate Taylor Swift:

Maybe she should start writing songs about all the shitty things her cat does to her? Call me maybe, Taylor.