I have blocked the cat door so that you cannot go outside. No matter how long you lay there and stare at the door, it will not magically open. No matter how long you stare at me, I will not open it. Yes, you are being punished. You are grounded, so to speak, for an indeterminable amount of time. Why? You ask? Here are the many reasons why:
Over the past two weeks, I have picked up dead lizard carcasses, chased a tail-less lizard around my kitchen, picked up said tail…which was still twitching…and swatted big buzzing bugs out my front door with a broom. I have vacuumed up leaves and debris that secretly lives in your fur, as well as, random chunks of cat hair because you two fight all the time.
You hop in front of the computer while I am using it. You refuse to vomit on the tile. You insist on making noise all night long like a rowdy teenager. Making biscuits on my leg may feel good to you but it hurts me. Yawning in my face grosses me out because you smell like fish & ass. You trip me when I wake up and try to get to the kitchen to make cawfee. You trip me while walking into the house after work. My toes are not toys. My tuna is not your tuna. My clothes are not your bed.
Here’s the deal, Cats. I feed you, clean up your shit, and buy you fun toys and give you catnip so you can get high. I pet you when you want to be petted. I leave you alone when you want to be left alone. I let you sleep on my pillow and on my furniture. I let you rip my skin to shreds during play time. I allow you free reign of both the indoors and outdoors. I also talk to you, for cripes sake, like a crazy person. I allow both of you to take up residence in my home and this alone has pegged me as the cat lady. In fact, you have doomed me to singledom just by being you and I have allowed it.
It is very important that you know that I do not need you to bring me dinner in the form of lizards…dead or alive. I am capable of cooking for myself. I do not need you to bring me play things in the form of buzzing bugs. Thank you, but I don’t want to play. Also, you two live in the same house. You two have the same human. Stop fighting. The only boss here is me. Deal with it.
You have one option. Be better at your job. Purr. Roll on your back when you see me. Sleep. Be cute. If you don’t, I will put you in a box, stand in front of Walmart and tell people that you are not only free but the best cats ever. I will make up some sob story about having to move home to NY to be with a dying friend and can’t bring you along. I will and I will be convincing, too. Your next human may not buy you the kitty treats you love. Keep that in mind.
Love, Your Human