It all started one lazy day last summer, I interrupted a “Finding Bigfoot” marathon by casually dropping a good old-fashioned, ‘Let’s get a cat,’ bomb. Apparently, a girl can only endure a “this is an abomination to science!” bash-fest for so long before her mind starts to wander to other large, hairy beasts…so we ended up on Petfinderand found the cat we wanted before those honky fucks could say, “Wait. Did you hear that?” for the 80 millionth time… (an otherwise impossible feat, had it not been for my expert implementation of search filters):
And done. I filled out our application the same way I like to fill out all applications: with half-truths and otherwise utter bullshit…Which is also probably why I can’t even get hired to work for free… Besides, the truth will always be out of the question because there’s really no good way to spin:
“I adopted a 150 lb dog, named Blue and well, technically, and briefly…my best friend’s dog Tito… Tito didn’t last long because I sort of killed him by taking him to my mom’s house…and I trusted that he had enough sense to stay with the other dogs and not go out in the woods by himself…but he didn’t. So really, he kind of killed himself… As for Blue, I ended up leaving my dog at my mom’s house for the past year because I was too busy trying to pursue a new career but really just ended up financially crippling myself to the point that I could no longer care for her properly…”
so instead, I went with:
Sold Pet: No
Given pet away: No
Surrendered Pet: No
Years will keep pet: til the bitter end*
*or, until he wanders off into the woods…His choice. Thankfully, my very understanding, best friend is also technically my landlord and only requires a quick briefing to find out ‘who and why?’, prior to testifying to my magnanimous nature, which is why we put my address down on the application…(we also wanted to avoid paying a pet deposit at Phil’s apartment… I know…we’re cheap bastards.)
Well, we go to pick the fucker up, AND of course, the cat people wouldn’t let us take him home because after meeting us, and possibly detecting our general state of hung-over’dness, they felt they needed to do a home inspection…which of course, greatly affected the Sunday sleep-in agenda…(an inconvenience which might at first make the karma police-inclined feel as though justice prevailed…but guess what? You’re an asshole. (and the home inspection actually ended up saving our lives.))
The next morning.
First, we had to go to my house to make it look like we actually lived there which we pulled off surprisingly well, and the lady left him with us and all was fine, UNTIL about 10 minutes of being alone with us, our brand new, awesome cat was crouching under the dining table and panting, which neither of us had ever seen before, which totally made us feel like inadequate caregivers who failed to properly evaluate the magnitude of such an undertaking…
Then, all of a sudden, Moose let out this demonic sounding wail and then ran over to the other side of the house, so we followed him, (like a bunch of dummies), where he then proceeded to rid his body of the evils within by taking what very well might have been, one of the biggest shits that has ever been shat by a cat. Most humans, for fuck’s sake.
I’m not kidding. It happened so fast–was so noxious, oppressive and wholly inescapable– that the smell actually hit me before my eyes even had chance to tell my brain what they were seeing, right in front of them…I actually had to ask Phil what the cat was doing… And through the thick cloud of rancid of cat-ass weighing down over the entire house…Phil looked at me somewhat quizzically, with his eyes watering and shirt pulled-up over his face and said, “He is shitting!? Oh, fuck us, it’s horrible. We have to live herenow.”
And that’s the day we said goodbye to our lazy days of summer, Phil’s apartment…and one of our bathrooms. Coincidentally, as I’d later find out, that was also the day I basically said goodbye to any chance of having an adult conversation that wouldn’t somehow devolve into me talking about the ugly truths of toilet-training a giant cat…There’s been sporadic yet marginal-success, major setbacks, death threats, and there’s even been a few spite-shits, which all the crazy cat people online try to say don’t exist so people won’t beat their cats, but we know different and don’t listen.
All of this together has ended with me using my spare time to build him a custom cat toilet, semi-effectively turning his ‘made-for-a-much-smaller-cat’ litter quitter into a rolling piece of furniture/giant litterbox that fits over the toilet, with the hopes that he’ll actually have the courtesy to use it consistently.
But really, I’m just trying to save his stupid asshole life…
p.s. I originally didn’t intend to provide such intimate detail… and I know it’s gross because I’m living it, so I’m not sorry for talking about it. I really wanted to talk about the making of the pterodactyls, our burgeoning Netflix documentary addiction and the re-acquisition of Blue…but it was impossible to only tell parts of this story, so I’ll save it for now.
In the meantime, here are two pictures with all of those things…
Moose with the pterodactyl masks: