Wednesday, January 21, 2009


I want a cat.

Let me rephrase that: I want to cuddle something cute and soft, and we're not allowed to have dogs in the building, so I want a cat.

Which is possibly the worst idea I've ever had, and that's saying something because I've had a disproportionate number bad ideas in my lifetime (please refer to my ill-advised marriage, my very butch hair cut in high school, and the time I turned our kitchen floor into an "ice skating rink" by smearing the linoleum with congealed bacon grease)((that isn't easy to undo, by the way)).

Gray's only response is, "You don't even like cats." Which is so very true. I don't like cats. They're smelly and bitchy and they don't come when they're called. They get fur on the couch and on your clothes and, honestly, every damn thing in the house. You can't have people over who are allergic to cats. They try to sneak out the front door. They often succeed. They're smart enough to know how to evade you, but not smart enough to take a piss outdoors.

I don't want to change a litter box. Hell, I don't even have a room in which I'd feel comfortable PUTTING a litter box. Cats claw up carpet and furniture. They vomit up hairballs and piles of kitty food in the middle of the hallways for you to step in barefooted on your way to the bathroom. They must be fed and watered. They require trips to the vet and medications and grooming. We would have to pay an additional damage deposit on the apartment, and we'd have to pay an additional amount of money each month the cat lived with us.

Cats are a huge, bitchy pain in the ass.

And I want one.