In the future, if I say I want a pet, please slap me. Or stab me with a fork. That works too.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my cats. But they are crazy as shit, and I’m tired of bleeding. I have a slew of new wounds today, because our older cat Lavinius thinks it’s a good idea to get scared of my mouse at random intervals. 99% of the time, he plays with the mouse, and enjoys watching the cursor move. He’s kinda dope like that. On the other hand, if I move the damned thing, then it’s out to fucking rape him. This is a new habit, but it’s one that has to go.
As a matter of fact, as I’m typing this, I’ve become a revolving door. Lavinius jumps into my lap, punches my mouse, sniffs my nose, and jumps back down. Rinse, repeat. I’m terrified to use my mouse, so I’m getting some good keyboard shortcut practice in. I’m getting real tired of this shit, guys. Maybe I’ll take lessons from The Oatmeal.
I have scratches covering 10 square inches on my chest and abdomen! My right pinkie got flayed and wouldn’t stop bleeding all day. Of course, this made my Sunday bleach-fest in the kitchen a bit of a nightmare. It also made maintaining my plants a chore, so I didn’t do that one. On the other hand (snark), I will likely have a new interesting scar on my hand. It’s not like I have enough of them, or anything…
So if I say I want a cat, stab me with a fork. If I get a cat, cut off a toe or three. I’m not doing this shit all over again. 20 years is enough, and I still have 19 of ’em to look forward to. Fuck.
(If you are wondering why I said “pets” early in the post instead of just “cats,” I have my reasons. Most of them involve cleaning poo in some fashion…)