I have never been so ready to kill the cat as I am currently. I am so over the constant screams of “pet me”, “let me out”, “no, let me in”, “feed me”, ”no, not that stuff, the other stuff”, “get out of my seat”.
Since when did the humanoid homeowners become the damn man servants to the feline persuasion? She’s even taught the Pig how to scream for attention, food, water and yes, more food. I am NOT a slave to the god damn pets! They are P-E-T-S Pets! Pets! Pets! Oy.
And I am not even the actual man servant to the Cat, it is Boy. (Hubby has been taken over by the cat currently) Boy belongs to the Cat, not me. Boy needs to come get this menopausal female bitch fest and take her home to his all male carnival ride he calls home. This 13-year-old Nagface would so enjoy the homemade bar that runs the length of the living room. She would love the Beer Pong table permanently perched in the driveway. There are even snakes in aquariums that she could sharpen her claws on. Not to mention the full sound studio and band practice room set up in the garage. Nothing says home like a wailing guitar solo and a back beat you can’t lose! And the constant stream of people eager to be ordered around daily by the female of the house.
Yes people, when I was 6 or 7 I wanted to grow up to be a vet just like everyone else. But the older I get, the meaner I get, and the less I want to take care of anyone or anything. Like that fabulous Toby Keith song says, “I like talking about you usually, but occasionally, I want to talk about me, me, me, me”.
So, anyone in need of a perfectly good ‘used’ cat?
And yes, her official name really is Payne in the Ass. Why do you think Boy did NOT take her home with him? Duh.