Tall Mom tiny baby: I F*cking Hate Cats {guest post}
                                                                                           

I F*cking Hate Cats {guest post}

Friday, June 6, 2014

*Disclaimer: This guest post is written by Tall Dad. The following article is Rated R, and is not representative of Mary Larsen’s thoughts or values.  She is not liable for the views expressed in the following commentary. Chances are, however, that if you're reading this, regardless of your tastes, we probably have at least one thing in common - we're both parents. And you know, just as well as I, that being a parent, either new, or grizzled veteran, is tough on anyone. So, take whatever you like from this article – good, bad, or ugly – and try to enjoy.
I fucking hate cats.  

Hate them.  Hate them like Niki Minaj hates Mariah Carrey.

Someone once shared a very wise saying with me, "dogs have owners and cats have staff."  And they're right.  Cats don't give two shits about you.  They don't give back. They're happy doing their own thing while dogs are loyal, loving, and most of all....obedient.

But I bought a cat - cause I'm an asshole.  Well, I bought it because it made my wife happy.  But, mostly, because I'm an asshole.



You see, I'll pretty much do anything as long as it makes Tall Mom happy.  I'm that kind of a guy/pushover.  It's ok.  I'll admit that she has some mystical power over me like she's the One Ring screwing with Frodo in The Lord of the Rings.  (I hate Elijah Wood almost as much as cats btw)


On Memorial Day Weekend, Tall Mom asked me to get a Terrarium.  If you know anything about Tall Mom, you know that she is the absolute worst thing to happen to any form of plant since the advent of the Atom Bomb.  She killed bamboo for Christ's sake!  Who the hell kills bamboo?  It's fucking impossible.  So, there was no way I was going to waste however much it costs to get that piece of garbage Terrarium.  It would have been dead in a week.  Probably less.


Credit must be given, however, to where it is due.  Tall Mom has managed to keep Itty Bitty alive for a full year.  This bout of recent fortune got me thinking that there must be an alternative to the Terrarium conundrum.  Knowing that she grew up with cats her entire life, I thought I could placate her by visiting cats at the Providence Animal Rescue League (PARL).  Here's my reasoning:


1.  I was crystal fucking clear that just because we were going to visit them, it didn't mean we were leaving with one.


2.   It also meant that I wasn't spending any money on ANYTHING.  By the time we agreed to leave, my plan was to waste enough time looking at cats that it would have been too late to go get a Terrarium.  This was possible because we were going to need to bring Itty Bitty home to sleep within a few hours.  So, I wasn't getting a Terrarium, and I sure as shit wasn't going to buy a cat - in the end, I was getting a days worth of entertainment for free.


3.  She'd see the cats, Itty Bitty would see the cats, they'd play and laugh and it would all be over soon.  I figured there is no cat on this planet that would be able to deal with Itty Bitty.  I can barely deal with Itty Bitty - so no cat should be able to, right?  Again, no chance at bringing home a cat.


4.  I'm a dog person and have had them my entire life.  The good news is that there is also a dog adoption program at PARL.  So while Tall Mom wasted her time looking at cats with Itty Bitty, I was going to slip away to the dog part and check out some real canine candidates to bring home with me if I liked one.  I knew I'd be able to convince Tall Mom to get a dog if I really pushed for it.


5.  So either way, I knew I was either not spending anything, or I was getting a dog that I liked.  This, for me, was a win-win situation.


But then, I ran into the cat that ruined my entire fucking plan.  Heather.  The stupid god damn cat with an even more stupid god damn name.


Heather-the-cat not only snake charmed my wife, but also lulled Rhys into some kind of feline trance that prevented him from doing his normal screaming Godzilla rage fits.  She purred and brushed-up her way into my wife's heart so quickly that I didn't even have time to think.


What's worse - I couldn't even escape to the dog part.  IT WAS CLOSED!  Some piece of shit dog had some piece of shit sickness that is deadly to other piece of shit dogs and they had to close down that area to monitor all the little pieces of shit.  I was trapped in feline hell.


Naturally, upon my wife's request, the staff whisked us off to some meet & greet room that is no bigger than Harry Potter's broom closet.  I could feel my plan slipping through my fingers as that cat did her dance to entice my wife into bringing her home.  For a second, I thought I saw Heather flip me the bird as my wife carefully caressed her soft and oh-so-ready-to-shed fur.


Then I saw Tall Mom's face.  I saw Itty Bitty's face.  They were genuinely happy.  And, while Itty Bitty may have grabbed Heather so hard that I thought her furry skin was going to be ripped from her skull, that cat didn't bat a fucking eyelash. She just took it in stride.  Not only that, she went back for more Itty Bitty loving. Once I started to put all these factors together, I knew I was a goner.  My family had just over-ruled me.  There was no way I could say no now.  I was bringing a god damn cat home despite all my protestations.

Gone was my pride.

Out came the credit card.


In stepped a cat.


Ugh.


But, my wife loves them.  And, apparently, despite my blood coarsing through his veins, Itty Bitty likes cats too. So, like an asshole, I got one. Maybe that was Tall Mom's plan all along?  Maybe she baited me into getting a cat.  She's pretty smart, man.  She's devious enough to do it.  Holy shit, did I get played?!?  I am literally just figuring this out as I write this.  Wow.


Anyway - I bought that infernal cat and I laid down some ground rules.


I told Tall Mom two things:


1. We're changing her name to something cool.  Heather is the worst fucking cat name of which I have ever heard.  If I'm gonna have a cat, her name isn't gonna suck.  So we decided on Khaleesi.  The Mother of Dragons.  That's the most badass cat name of which I've ever heard.


2. There is no way on god's green earth I am doing a litter box.  No way. No how.  Ain't gonna happen.  Why?



CAUSE I FUCKING HATE CATS!




To read Tall Mom's side of this story - click here.


Or, would you like to learn more about Khaleesi? click here!


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7 comments:

  1. I also hated cats. For my entire life (for the record, I also was not a dog person, or really any animal ever person). Then my husband needled me, and wore me down enough to trick me into adopting a kitten. Now I am a cat person. And I love that little fluff ball like crazy. Even though she is a skittish little b*tch. I still don't do the litter box though. Never have, never will. ;)

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  2. my stepdad hated cats when my mom moved in with him. I had a cat. He fell in LOVE with my Kelly. After she passed many years later, I got my mom a cat bc she was lonely. The fucker liked my stepdad, who said no more cats EVER, more than my mom. She was heartbroken, but that damn cat still loves him to death. Even though my mom is gone, he has that darn cat I bought her and he does love it.

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  3. Just sent this link to my husband with the subject: So Can I Get a Cat. He sides with you Tall Dad. Unfortunately.

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  4. I'm crying laughing. I said I'd never marry a man with a cat... I hate them. Then I met Dave. His dude car, Morgan, has been dead for less than a year, and it's me that wants another. Go figure...

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  5. Love it!! I love cats....just not indoor cats. No litter boxes allowed. And no counter walking. Wow, sounds like I might not love cats as much as I thought.

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  7. If it makes you feel any better, Daniel and I are also NOT cat people. Never in my life would I have thought I'd end up with a cat. And we did. 'Cept ours was a scraggly looking, FIV+, nearly hairless from a skin allergy, willing-to-kill-every-other-cat-ever, straight-outta-the-9th-ward, Katrina cat. She charmed us, by sleeping on my car. It took us three years to finally, actually accept that she was ours and buy a bin for her food.

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