I forgot about this whole thing until the Sucking Cats thread
Fucking cats
I had two cats when I was in college. Micky and Willie (Mantle and Mays... UG!). I picked Micky up from the pound. I should have known he was a little bastard because the other kitten in Micky's cage had his tail chewed all up. But Micky was tiny and cute. I never had a pet before.
They were my boyfriend's cats. He talked me into getting them... Psycho Mike (discussed a bit in the entry "Just like Clinton... or so I've heard") We lived together.
*say it all together, just another in a big long line of mistakes.... yes, I sucked, even back then.*
The cats were horrible. Willie was little and sweet, but Micky made him a bastard junior. They looked related but weren't. It's like with kids. The jail theory: the baddest one teaches all the others how to be bastards.
They would attack your feet. Socks, shoes, barefoot, no matter. I had scratches all over me. These guys were traumatized somehow and were taking over, and taking it out on us.
They used to tear up the house. Constantly getting cat litter all over the apartment. (Gross, going barefoot to the fridge for breakfast and crunchy litter all over the floor.) Poked holes in Mike's waterbed (I hated that fucking bed!). They knocked over a bunch of my ceramic art projects and broke them.
[aside]
A semester's worth of work. And yes, ceramics is actually pretty hard. Plus if one of your classmate's pieces of shit exploded in the kiln and killed of one of your works of art, you failed. BIG F. A F in art.
When Psycho Mike and I split, he didn't have a place to put the cats (he moved into the dorms). I had to take those assholes with me. They got all neurotic without him. Micky started shitting right in front of the door. I did everything the vet said to do, but every day, big pile of crap in front of my door. Nothing worked. I hated him. I hated Psycho Mike for sticking me with these beasts.
A few months later Good Mike moved in. He was a good dude, but I saw him kick Micky once. At the time I was really pissed off, but now, post cat, I understand why.
They were indoor cats. Guess it was the season, but Willie stood at the door on his hind legs and cried to be let out all night long. This went on for days. Right during finals week. I was tempted to let him go, but it's Texas. All of the outdoors is nasty.
Then the grossest of them all. One day Micky was barfing up a hairball. He was a little shit. I hated that fucking cat. I can't say that enough. I hated that fucking cat.
Cough, cough, cough. I thought I'd have to give him the heimlich.
Out
pukes
a
big,
used
juicy
condom.
Nice.
Final straw.
Good Mike gave me an altimatum. Me or the cats. I chose him.
The lady I gave them to tried to give them back. I said no. I feel bad, but I was enjoying life without crunchy floors. Whining. Vet visits.
Puking up rubbers.
Now I just deal with diaper changes, potty training, eye goo, and the new one "Ewwww mommy, look at this big, gigantic booger. Hold it for me."
Nice.