Nightmare Fuel
Some people look into their pet’s eyes and see human qualities…love, compassion, empathy, understanding…. I’m specifically talking about dog people of course because cats experience none of these emotions.
I do see certain things when I look into my cats’ eyes though….with Jaegar, I see a half bored interest in food and with Isis, I see hatred tempered by a mild surprise/disappointment that I’m not dead yet.
But with Ernest….with Ernest, I see things that can be neither understood nor forgotten. It can best be described as looking into “The Nothing” from my favorite acid trip of a movie from childhood, ‘The NeverEnding Story’. “The Nothing” is a void of darkness that consumes everything…and that, my friends, is what lurks beneath these hardened eyes:
So there’s a nice little dose of fuel for your nightmares tonight. Goodnight, dear readers!
Again with this shit.
Last night I tried lying on my side and reading so that Isis could not get between me and my book. That worked for about 8 minutes before this happened:
My next plan of action is reading in the tub. Just try and cockblock me on that one, you hateful witch devil cat.
Wake up. It’s Caturday.
In addition to being more worthless than a bag of dicks, my cats are also surprisingly intelligent. But rather than use this unnatural intelligence to do things that would make my life easier (feed themselves, realize that the couch and their scratching post are not the same thing, piss in the litter box rather than on the bed, etc), they have made a conscious decision to use it for evil and generally just inconveniencing me and making sure I never sleep.
I have no idea how my cats have figured out the days of the week, but they sure as fuck know when it’s Saturday. And like all dickish cats, they have adopted the idea that Saturday should be spent catering to their stupid cat wishes. Saturday mornings (or ‘Caturday’ as I’ve come to call it since my cats decided to appropriate the day for themselves) typically begin at some ungodly hour with Jaegar doing this:
Beginning around 4:00 a.m., he will run across the bed at lightning speed every 2 minutes until he knows that I am awake and then he will come do this. And since it is impossible to sleep with 30 pounds of cat sitting on your stomach and kneading your chest, I will eventually get up and check his food bowl where I will find the food that I just put in there 5 fucking hours ago. After dumping out the “old” food and refilling fatass’s bowl with “fresh” food, I will be allowed to go back to bed for approximately 20 minutes (you know, just enough time to start falling back to sleep) and then this will happen:
Don’t be fooled. It’s not gratitude for the cat food. It’s like he’s using his claws to tell me: “Hey guess what? I know what day of the week it is. I know you don’t have to work today. So I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t get to sleep in and that you wake up and pay attention to my fat ass. Because it’s Caturday, bitch.”
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.
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.
-Catherine
Cats Are Such Dicks 