| Jan. 28th, 2005 @ 09:07 pm Prepare to laugh your arse off friends |
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New pet cat causes distress
Glenn LaFollette - Columnist
2005-01-27 18:11:32
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Few things in life are as special as that first pet.
I remember mine. His name was Barney. He was a great cat, but then he played chicken with a Buick and lost. Barnes was a black cat, so the fact that he was stupid enough to think he could outwit a sedan wasn’t surprising. However, through every misplaced “doo-doo” and clawed ankle, I loved the little guy.
I have another one now. After recently moving apartments, I became the co-caretaker of a new piece of crap — I mean this quite literally. Its name is Kitty, and it blows. While the cat is actually female, it is my opinion that evil is unisex, so I refer to it as “it.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dealt with animals my whole life. For one, I grew up on a farm so I know the ins and outs of sheep raising. (Get it ... I said ins and outs like I … nevermind.) I also know a lot about cows, since I’ve been to my fair share of date parties. (My e-mail address is at the bottom, ladies. Send your hatemail there.)
My family even had a llama. No, we didn’t name it Tina. No, we didn’t feed it ham. Actually, we fed it plastic, and it died.
Why is this cat so bad? I’ve only been here one week and it’s already mistaken by bed for a litter box once and my roommate Grant’s twice. I mean, what the hell? This isn’t how you welcome new people into your home … well, except in maybe in Canada.
“Well, there you go, eh. There’s you some extra blankets for the cold there. Oh, and I made sure to just soak down your mattress with the ol’ whistle. It warms you up real nice, and scares off the bears, eh. If you need anything else, I’ll be in the next room watching ‘Kids in the Hall’ and finding ways for the world to forget our country exists. Night, eh.”
The urination problem can probably be linked to one thing: The devil cat is in heat. This I must say is the funniest thing I have ever witnessed. It makes me wish human females went through heat. Wouldn’t chemistry be a lot more fun?
“Class, this is the Bunsen burner. You’ll use that to heat the mixture that you put it in these long, glass beak … beakers. Um … wow, is it hot in here? Class dismissed.”
Kitty just walks around looking for someone to put it out of its misery. You know, kind of like Kirstie Alley in those Jenny Craig commercials.
“Jenny, I’m fat, girl.”
Yes, Kirstie, we can see that. You apparently ate Ted Danson and probably Woody Harrelson, too. Since dating Whoopi and “Money Train” those guys have been harder to find than Osama.
Grant and I have looked for answers. Obviously, we could take it to the vet, but that would be too simple and easy for our pulsating man-brains. We scanned online for a while and one answer did surface.
ME: Find anything yet?
GRANT: Yeah, but you gotta agree to do it first.
ME: Sure, fine, whatever. I’m just tired of it rubbing its butt on all my friends that I bring over.
GRANT: Is she that bad?
ME: Yeah, it’s like the drunk, fat girl at a party. She’s getting laid, and it really doesn’t matter who or what species at this point. Oh, what’s the cure?
GRANT: It says here that if you stick a Q-tip in her vagina it should end the cycle.
ME: I’m moving out.
Needless to say, Kitty’s still in heat. It’s even mastered the art of opening doors like the raptors in “Jurassic Park.” It doesn’t come in to slice open my small intestine. Instead, it just walks across the top of my bed and jumps on my face.
I haven’t sleep for more than an hour any this week.
But I find creative ways to fight back. Have you ever thrown a cat at a futon? Wow, let me tell you. Screw Zoloft. If you have depression issues just find a cat and throw it as hard as you can at a piece of furniture. You’ll feel worlds better.
Grant and I also do this thing where we lay socks on Kitty’s back. It’s stupid so it won’t just shake them off. It’ll walk four or five steps then fall over and lay there until we take the socks off. When you’re drunk this equates to hours of entertainment.
I’m taking suggestions of all kinds to end this plague upon my house. I need sleep, and more importantly I don’t want to be raped by a cat.
— Glenn LaFollette is a super-senior in journalism and electronic media. He can be reached at g@utk.edu. |
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