Cat Un-Fancy

My teeth hurt. I am not going to blog about the new arch wires I got on my braces today, but thanks to the pain associated with the process of adult orthodontics and the attempt to straighten my already straight teeth, I can’t sleep. And thanks to having children and the need to be "responsible", I cannot take anything stronger than a Tylenol. (What in hell does "you’ll get new elastics at your next visit mean, any damn way?!?) So I am blogging instead about our cat problem instead of staring at the ceiling in my bedroom. 

As for all my cat loving friends, I am sorry if I what I am about to type will offend you. But, please keep in mind that what I am about to describe are not your lovable little furry kittens that like to curl up with you next to the fire and dine on Fancy Feast. These are the "gang members" of the cat world. Not out for love and human companionship, but out to raise hell, tear up garbage and shit all over your swing set and your life.

I am a dog person, but I grew up with cats. My dad seemed to have a special place in his heart for the sneaky little bastards, and he was always bringing strays home, which always acquired the name "Kitty". A fat man down the street shot two of my cats and then something unfortunate happened to one that my mother swore was "demon possessed", and only she knows how it escaped our sun room after clawing her wicker furniture set to shreds. So, my mother's fear of cats was instilled in me, and the fact that one tried to suck out my breath when I was 8 and fell asleep on our couch watching Batman on VHS doesn't help either. Stephen King's "Cat's Eye" got me scared of the cat sucking breath thing, and I will be damned if I didn’t wake up one night to find "Kitty" on my chest and entirely too close to my nose for comfort. Since then, I have never been fond of cats. They are sneaky, they shed too much, and purring creeps me out completely. No animal should vibrate and make a sound like that. Besides, I am terrified of Cat Scratch Fever. I don’t quite know what it is, but Ted Nugent sounds a bit intimidated by it, and so am I.

So, this male whore cat down the street knocked up all the lady kitties around here and now there is a load of orphans running around. I wake up to find them sleeping on our patio, on top of my car, on the porch, and yes, even IN my car. The calico one is the worst about this. While pouring rain the other day, I get in the car, start the ignition, reverse half way down the driveway and look in my rearview to see the little bastard in the girl’s booster seat. Apparently it got in through a cracked window. Calico had a look of hate on its whiskers and a scary screeching sound coming from its mouth.  I thought I would be attacked right there in my own driveway, so I fled the car, in the rain, and the little SOB still wouldn’t get out. Finally Calico decided to run away, but I was pissed for days after. This cat just better be glad I didn’t find any cat turds on my leather upholstery. 

There is a gray one I like to call "Asshole" that has a habit of getting in our garbage. The hubs has shot it twice with a pellet gun, to no avail. We threw away some leftover Honeybaked ham a few nights ago, only to find that "Asshole" found it and proceeded to string garbage all across the front yard. He managed to pull out a couple of dirty diapers from the trash, as well. I can see the neighbors now, “Look, honey, what beautiful landscaping….wait, is that a hambone and a filthy diaper next to that Crepe Myrtle?”

There is also a fat orange Garfield looking one that likes to defecate on the swing set. Cat turds are in the swings, on the slide, hidden in the sand box. This infuriates me on so many levels. Especially since I am a germaphobe. So help me if I actually find this cat in the act of squeezing one out, he will lose all 9 lives right then and there.  

Then there is the black cat. I am superstitious, so I can’t stand the sight of this venomous little bastard. I have to mark an X on my car window every time I enter my driveway just so I will feel better. He likes to crap all over the yard as well, and it seems that mushrooms pop up wherever he has rested his ass. He also likes to sleep on top of my dog's grave, which I find to be sacrilegious in some way, and I’m sure that Peaches is looking down from Heaven and wishing I would end its life so that she can get a hold of him herself up there at the Rainbow Bridge. I have a death wish for Black Sheba.  

  

I keep having flashbacks to the episode of “Seinfeld” where Elaine hires Kramer to wipe out the yapping dog next door. I could never harm an animal, no matter how bothersome, but I am losing patience quickly. I will not be sitting out a bowl of rat poison or opting for the deer rifle instead of the pellet gun, but I can dream, can’t I? How relaxing it would be to sit in the living room, fire place roaring, a cup of hot cocoa and a little Etta James on the stereo- and a beautiful daydream about Calico, a handful of firecrackers and my trusty pink Zippo. Pure bliss.