My four-legged fiend
My family's cat has become my arch nemesis.
When my mom brought him home in that spring of 1997, he was the greatest thing in the world. He had the cuuutest widdle eyes and the cuutest widdle tail and the cuuutest widdle tummy and did the cuuutest widdle things like attack my feet or play under the recliner.
No one said he was bright.
Anyway, fast forward to now, just a few weeks before the cat's 8th birthday. Which happens to be April 15th. I think that's hilarious...my pain-in-the-ass cat has his birthday on one of the most dreaded days of the year. I digress. This nearly 8 year old cat has become one of my least favorite people.
Yes, I referred to the cat as a person. I often behave as if the silly creature has a somewhat human capacity for human emotions and reactions. Moving on.
The cat and I have never really been on the best of terms. It's kind of like he's the bratty little brother I never wanted. My parents spoil him rotten and he gets to do whatever he wants. He and my sister get along famously. But he hates me.
Case-in-point: I am unfortunately allergic to cats. Not severely, mind you, but just allergic enough for me to hate the cat even more. I mean, I'm allergic to the cat and he still gets to live here.
The cat likes to rotate the places where he parks his furry butt and sleeps all day. Depending on the time of day and the time of year, he's in a different spot. He chose to make the foot of my bed his daytime spot this winter. I should feel honored. Who wouldn't love to wake up with their feet all nice and toasty because of the kitty cat snoozing at the end of their bed?
I hate it.
If the cat sleeps on my bed while I'm in it, my nose immediately stuffs up and my eyes get all crusty and I just get miserable. It's April in the middle of January.
Of course, the solution to such a problem is simple. To keep the cat from sleeping on my bed, I keep my door closed whenever I'm not in the room and whenever I'm sleeping. However, if I'm asleep and the cat wants to sleep in my room, he paws at my door.
Incessantly.
At ungodly hours of the morning. Like 9:30. (Considering that I'm unemployed right now, 9:30am is considered horribly early) Pawing and pawing and meowing until I wake up and tell him to go somewhere else.
But then I'm awake and I can't fall back asleep. The cat wins. I suffer because I didn't give him what he wanted.
So lately I've been really hardcore about keeping the cat off of my bed. The cat was pissed. I thought I had won. Alas....
The cat has now started sleeping on the blanket that I use when I'm downstairs watching tv. He's on it right now, fouling it up with all of his furry feline allergens so that when I go down there to watch tv later, I shall be a sniffling and miserable mess.
That cat is evil.
When my mom brought him home in that spring of 1997, he was the greatest thing in the world. He had the cuuutest widdle eyes and the cuutest widdle tail and the cuuutest widdle tummy and did the cuuutest widdle things like attack my feet or play under the recliner.
No one said he was bright.
Anyway, fast forward to now, just a few weeks before the cat's 8th birthday. Which happens to be April 15th. I think that's hilarious...my pain-in-the-ass cat has his birthday on one of the most dreaded days of the year. I digress. This nearly 8 year old cat has become one of my least favorite people.
Yes, I referred to the cat as a person. I often behave as if the silly creature has a somewhat human capacity for human emotions and reactions. Moving on.
The cat and I have never really been on the best of terms. It's kind of like he's the bratty little brother I never wanted. My parents spoil him rotten and he gets to do whatever he wants. He and my sister get along famously. But he hates me.
Case-in-point: I am unfortunately allergic to cats. Not severely, mind you, but just allergic enough for me to hate the cat even more. I mean, I'm allergic to the cat and he still gets to live here.
The cat likes to rotate the places where he parks his furry butt and sleeps all day. Depending on the time of day and the time of year, he's in a different spot. He chose to make the foot of my bed his daytime spot this winter. I should feel honored. Who wouldn't love to wake up with their feet all nice and toasty because of the kitty cat snoozing at the end of their bed?
I hate it.
If the cat sleeps on my bed while I'm in it, my nose immediately stuffs up and my eyes get all crusty and I just get miserable. It's April in the middle of January.
Of course, the solution to such a problem is simple. To keep the cat from sleeping on my bed, I keep my door closed whenever I'm not in the room and whenever I'm sleeping. However, if I'm asleep and the cat wants to sleep in my room, he paws at my door.
Incessantly.
At ungodly hours of the morning. Like 9:30. (Considering that I'm unemployed right now, 9:30am is considered horribly early) Pawing and pawing and meowing until I wake up and tell him to go somewhere else.
But then I'm awake and I can't fall back asleep. The cat wins. I suffer because I didn't give him what he wanted.
So lately I've been really hardcore about keeping the cat off of my bed. The cat was pissed. I thought I had won. Alas....
The cat has now started sleeping on the blanket that I use when I'm downstairs watching tv. He's on it right now, fouling it up with all of his furry feline allergens so that when I go down there to watch tv later, I shall be a sniffling and miserable mess.
That cat is evil.
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