Kitty Porn

There is evil lurking in my apartment. Its name is Schrödinger. [10 Internet points if you get the reference. Internet points may be redeemed for fabulous prizes.]

Look at him, waiting to strike. [Note: my husband is totally reading over my shoulder as I type this. I imagine that many side comments will follow as he tries to mess with me. I've decided my husband is going to be the recurring villain in my posts.] Anyway, the cat. Some time ago a friend of ours found this cat wandering around his apartment complex. However, he must have soon discovered that this cat is actually 2/3rd devil (1/3rd dog), and convinced my husband he should take the cat. I was against this plan, but my husband and the friend ganged up on me, claiming that if we didn't take the cat it would go to a shelter were no one would adopt it (most likely due its evilness) and then it would be lonely and sad and at some point a bus full of nuns would collide with a bus full of orphans and it would be all my fault. And then God would kill a kitten. So basically, I'd have 2 bus loads and a kitten's worth of deaths on my hands if I wouldn't let the cat live with us, and I can't handle that kind of pressure. I can barely handle calling to make doctor's appointments.

So..we got a cat. Now, I never had a pet as a child. My parents knew I had an incredibly short attention span and were worried I'd forget to take care of whatever pet I had, so to even be allowed to have a fish I had to write a research paper on how to not kill one. (Many things in my childhood involved me needing to write research papers. I was definitely the weird kid. It should also be noted that my sister totally got to have whatever pet she wanted and only had to read a book. So when I was in college my sister got her adorable, stupid dog. But I'm not jealous. Not at all.) So here I am, an awkward clean freak, face to face with a cat. (And then a 20 minute break follows because my husband decided that we had to post out Dragon*Con pictures RIGHT EFFING NOW or...I don't know, Facebook would implode. But it was extremely urgent.)

The first few weeks were as expected - the cat was loud (seriously...his meow can be heard clearly through 4 sets of doors/walls), messy, learned how to open doors which made my attempts at feline containment meaningless, and tried to kill me no less than 37 times. It's a miracle I'm still alive. Then it was Christmas time, my favorite time of year. (My husband (you know what, his name is Kane. I'm going to type that because "my husband" is getting wordy), anyway, Kane just said that he was going to eat "some of Stephani's delicious meat". This is what I have to live with.) Among my decorations was a family heirloom paper nativity set, complete with 4 paper sheep (this fact will be important later). Once day I came home from classes to discover that a furry natural distaster had stuck Bethlehem. The manger was turned over, Jesus was missing, wise men were askew, and Mary was wedged under my TV table. I charged into action, the FEMA of my living room, and began to clean up the damage. Mary was successfully extracted. I found Jesus (in one of my shoes). As I had finished resetting the scene, the cat stalks out from under the couch, happily chewing away on something. The cat had to been known to eat sticky notes so at first I thought nothing of it (well, actually I was thinking that I really hoped sticky note glue was toxic), until I counted my sheep. One...Two...Three. This post is full of lies. (Woah, what was that? Kane apparently added that when I walked away for a second. My posts are not safe. Anyway...) I tried to rescue my errant sheep (I had named him Steve) from the mouth of the hellcat, but there was nothing I could do. Steve was headless and armless. I disposed of Steve's remains. (I was actually a little glad the cat ate Steve...not because he ate Steve specifically, but because it was way better than the cat eating Jesus. I'm pretty if your cat eats Jesus you at least go to Purgatory, cursed to an eternity of arts and crafts to make replacement paper Jesuses (Jesusi? I guess that's not something you need to pluralize very often)). I also vowed to never tell my mother what happened. (Oh crap, I hope my mom never reads my blog. Actually, I kind of want my mom to read my blog to increase readership. So...I'm sorry mom. Blame your son-in-law. Or the cat. I know you dislike the cat too.)

It has continued to this day - I have something cool/important/priceless and the cat destroys it. Or attacks me. Either way, he still gets hugs from my husband

(Me: I'm telling my nonexistent readers how you love the cat more than me.
Kane: Okay.
Mee: Wait, so is that true?
Kane: Guess so. [Okay, he didn't say that. He said I was going to put whatever I wanted here. Then I did and he hit me in the face with a pillow. Totally unfair. He's now amended his statement to say that he loves me more than the cat, but just barely.)

and continues to try to own my house. However, there is one bright spot in this cat tale (hehe, almost a pun) - a wonderful advancement in the field of cat torture knows as the cat leash.

You see, Kane lives in a world where his cat is not fat and stupid and wants to go for long walks on the beach with him. (As I type, Kane is lying on the couch using the cat as a pillow and snuggling with it. This is awkward.) So, he will force him into this little bondage harness and drag him out for a walk. Yes, I said drag. The cat, once harnessed, will use the toddler tactic of going completely limp and refusing to move. Kane has worked around this problem by picking up the cat and carrying him to where the walk should start, which I think defeats the purpose of a "walk", but apparently I just don't know anything about the inner workings of cat leash processes. So Kane carries the cat to somewhere, plops this angsty, meowing pile of fat fur on the ground, and waits. Slowly, the cat starts to move. Then, the truly delicious part (for me) occurs. I am already jazzed because the cat hates this so much, but once he's outside, it gets so much better. For outside, there are dogs. I don't have pictures of what happens next, because Kane doesn't think to capture photographic evidence of the cat having a "major fucking shit-spazz", but I did draw my own artist's rendering.

The dog could be doing nothing, and the cat just loses it. It's beautiful, and is slowly making up for all the times he has attacked my face. (Interesting fact: I had to ask Stephani how dogs walk so I could draw a dog that didn't look retarded with legs all akimbo)

Update: Remember how I said Kane and the cat were snuggling? Well, apparently, the cat got tired of it and kicked him off the couch. And Kane let him do it. I can't even get Kane to not drag me around town when I am dying of a headache (true story), but the cat gets a couch to himself. I think something is afoul here.

Also, since this post is called “Kitty Porn”, the cat wanted to pose for you.

~Melody