Warning: Censorship has been turned off for this post
It was an ordinary Saturday. Having had a busy week at work, I decided that I would sleep late and wake up when I was ready. My husband left for work early and I was stretched out across the entire bed with all of the blankets wrapped around me. Snug as a bug in a rug, you might say. I heard the door close as Mike walked out and then all I heard was the hum of the circulating fan moving the cool air around while I lay bundled up. I had barely drifted off to sleep again when it started. Carlos the cat strutted into the room and around the corner of the bed. It was on! He had gotten Chloe the corgi’s attention and she ran out of the room snarling and barking after him. She came bouncing back into the bedroom as if to say, “and stay out”, which he did not. I swear he stood around the corner listening for my breathing pattern to resume to a relaxed mode so he could start all over again. Two more times this animal nonsense happened and then I had given up. I started my day cussing. Damn these animals! Most days we would have to pry the dog’s furry badonkadonk out of her kennel to get her outside before work because she likes to sleep in. She is not a morning pup. As for the cat, typically in the morning nothing phases him except that he likes to watch Mike clean his litter box and fill his food bowls, yes I said bowls as in plural. He has his little morning snack, then off to sleep he goes. He sleeps by day so that in the night he can work on his agenda. That agenda, by the way, is finding ways in which to piss me off. Some mornings it’s a complete roll of toilet paper unraveled into the toilet. It may even be a roll of paper towels that rose up against him in the night making it necessary for him to wrestle it to the floor shredding every bit of it’s Brawny dignity. It may be about pushing things off the dining room table that he feels are in the way of his 15 pound, fur covered, feline ass.
Because I started my day in a less than delightful way, I headed off to the music cave, which I share with Carlos; his pedestal to the window is there along with his food and the dreaded litter box. On approaching my keyboard, Carlos was quickly reduced to “that damn cat!” That damn cat has been thinking outside his litter box! He had relieved his bladder near my music equipment, making sure to give each cable that connected my keyboard to the amplifier a good strong dose of Carlos. As I began to pull cables from the back of my keyboard, tossing them into the middle of the floor, IT strutted into the room as if to say, what’s up? At 212 degrees, water boils and I learned yesterday that I boil at 98.6 degrees if provoked by the cat. It had been building all morning when suddenly I threw a handful of cables, shouting at the top of my voice, “get the hell out of here, fucking cat! I’ll take your furry ass to the first animal shelter that will have you!” That felt kind of good, I thought. In fact it felt so good that I think this world would be a less violent place if people would cuss more often.
Some of my readers may still be in shock having read the uncensored thoughts, sticking with me to the end hoping for that warm fuzzy life application that I typically provide.
Today I simply want to leave you with good news. The cat is not dead.
Thanks for stopping by.
Amy Lynn Michael