It’s raining outside, and there are five feral cats lounging on my patio. I am running a halfway house for errant felines. I’d post a picture but every time I try Aunty Gomez freaks out and runs out into the rain and I don’t want her to get wet. Here in a bit I will go out there with a mountain of food and sit down nearby in an effort gain their trust so that
they can give me ringworm I can maybe nab one of them and scratch its little chin. Or it can scratch mine. Off.
I hate cats.
So you can imagine my revulsion when I looked out on my patio two weeks ago and saw this:
I KNOW! WHAT AN UGLY LITTLE TROLL!!
He has an equally ugly sibling and mother. “Maybe food will help,” I thought. “Look what it has done for me.”
So I gave them a little food, and they went away. Like stray cats do.
And the next day I woke up to this:
Disgusting. I had to bum rush my daughter out of the house. It’s like they wanted to be seen.
My husband and I conspired via text.
Those kittens sure are ugly, he said.
I KNOW! Should we kill them? Where do we keep the burlap sacks?
Or maybe this:
That evening, my daughter saw them. She showed my son.
MOM! Those kittens are so ugly! they said. Did you know they are living under the house? We have to get rid of them and certainly not feed them or try to give them shelter and stupid names.
I hate cats.
The next day, my husband turned a storage container into a shelter, and used food to lure them into it for about 30 seconds. Then, in typical man-fashion, declared victory and blocked the door to their lair.
And one of the kittens got scared and ran away.
And we celebrated. Yay! One less ugly cat! I was so happy that I wanted to say thanks for leaving, fucko, so I wandered around for 3 hours trying to find it. Then the ugly little creep came back on his own. I cried. Because so ugly.
The next day, this:
I immediately christened the black and white Uncle Gomez, because he is a creepy little shit in a tuxedo, and the hideous splotchy gray one became Esther, your grandmother who always makes you feel guilty for putting her in a nursing home. I sat on the patio a long time, mocking them and telling them how ugly they were, and they stalked me and the mosquitos ate one of my feet completely off. If I have Zika, I have the ugly cats to blame.
I fed them all flea meds. Because I like to set money on fire.
I now believe that Esther may be both grandfather and father in this scenario, and if I understand how the catriarchy works, Uncle Gomez may be female. This is not something I am particularly motivated to verify.
My daughter told me it doesn’t matter, we don’t have to change their names BECAUSE GIRLS CAN HAVE BOY NAMES, MOM!!
Welcome Grandpa Esther and Aunty Gomez. She named the kittens Snowball and Celestia. Aunty Gomez likes to bat Snowball around the patio a little more than I am comfortable with. Grandpa Esther hangs around looking shady.
Doorstop*, my morbidly obese indoor cat, likes to wander by and growl at them to get a job.
Her job is to pee directly in front of the litter box and sing to me at 5am. Clueless*, who is quickly becoming a direct threat for the title of most useless cat ever, feels sorry for them because they don’t have their own Walmart sack like she does. Neener, neener.
Her job is to suddenly go careening around the house like she is on fire before hiding under the bed, also at 5am.
Further, today I saw this:
That’s right. Those fat, furry, ugly little fuckers are molesting my hibiscus. While mom literally looks the other way. Literally.
This generation of feral cats are so entitled. They don’t hunt. They don’t bring me dead birds. They contribute nothing. They just hang around being ugly and waiting for handouts. Today on my walk I saw momma kitty sitting on someone’s front porch like she lived there. I stopped and stared at that furry little asshole for a long time. To be fair, she sits on my patio like she lives there. I am going to let my daughter name her something embarrassing.
I hate cats. Does it show?
*not their real names because they are cats and don’t give a shit.