I live in a cat house
I live in a cat house. No, no, not THAT kind of cat house! Mine simply has too many cats in it. They sharpen their claws on the furniture. Their greedy little eyes watch my ham sandwich at lunchtime. They trip me in the pre-dawn darkness as I get ready for work. The cute little fur balls are trying to kill me.
It wasn't always like this. Somehow, that lovely woman I married turned into a crazy cat lady. First we took in a couple of strays. Then a feral cat dropped a litter of kittens in our garage. The next thing I knew, I could hardly take a step without setting off some screeching feline. Even that was OK. But I crossed the line when I began questioning the expenses involved in all the food, litter, and vet bills. I pointed out that the cats cost far more than any of my bicycles. That's when the fur balls started plotting my demise.
They're sneaky and secretive about it, of course, because they're cats. Rather than being overtly physical they prefer stealthy psychological attacks. They steal my pencil when I'm trying to write. They attack the cursor on the computer screen. The kittens are inordinately fond of sinking sharp claws into unprotected feet. But the one thing that makes me absolutely insane is waking up to a loud purr at 3AM, only to discover a pair of large, yellow eyes peering at me from inches away. It's entirely possible to go from sound asleep to stark raving mad in about ten milliseconds.
One of them took a liking to my cycling shoes. She sleeps atop them in my closet. Worse, she also sleeps in the small hamper with my used cycling jerseys, shorts, and socks. When she's feeling affectionate, it's like having a purring sweat sock climb in my lap. As part of their nefarious plot, she usually does this right before dinner. My appetite is much reduced.
So I'm not getting enough sleep and I'm not eating right. After the last 3AM session, I told the offending cat, “If you do this again, you're off to the vet's office to be neutered. Mess with me, buddy, and see what happens!” Actually, he was already scheduled, something which Mary had tried to explain to him without success. She's a crazy cat lady for good reason.
She gave me that level stare, the one that all husbands know and dread. In an icy, malice-tinged voice, she said, “Mess with my cats, buddy boy, and see what happens.”
I was awake for the rest of the night, my legs carefully crossed. Cats pranced gleefully in the hallway, danced along the kitchen counter tops, and snorted long lines of finely-ground catnip. The racket faded as the sun came up. I crept down the hall to find cats snoring raucously on the couch, the end tables, the kitchen table, and even on top of my computer. They'd won. I'd moved down at least one rung on the household pecking order.
It wasn't always like this. Somehow, that lovely woman I married turned into a crazy cat lady. First we took in a couple of strays. Then a feral cat dropped a litter of kittens in our garage. The next thing I knew, I could hardly take a step without setting off some screeching feline. Even that was OK. But I crossed the line when I began questioning the expenses involved in all the food, litter, and vet bills. I pointed out that the cats cost far more than any of my bicycles. That's when the fur balls started plotting my demise.
They're sneaky and secretive about it, of course, because they're cats. Rather than being overtly physical they prefer stealthy psychological attacks. They steal my pencil when I'm trying to write. They attack the cursor on the computer screen. The kittens are inordinately fond of sinking sharp claws into unprotected feet. But the one thing that makes me absolutely insane is waking up to a loud purr at 3AM, only to discover a pair of large, yellow eyes peering at me from inches away. It's entirely possible to go from sound asleep to stark raving mad in about ten milliseconds.
One of them took a liking to my cycling shoes. She sleeps atop them in my closet. Worse, she also sleeps in the small hamper with my used cycling jerseys, shorts, and socks. When she's feeling affectionate, it's like having a purring sweat sock climb in my lap. As part of their nefarious plot, she usually does this right before dinner. My appetite is much reduced.
So I'm not getting enough sleep and I'm not eating right. After the last 3AM session, I told the offending cat, “If you do this again, you're off to the vet's office to be neutered. Mess with me, buddy, and see what happens!” Actually, he was already scheduled, something which Mary had tried to explain to him without success. She's a crazy cat lady for good reason.
She gave me that level stare, the one that all husbands know and dread. In an icy, malice-tinged voice, she said, “Mess with my cats, buddy boy, and see what happens.”
I was awake for the rest of the night, my legs carefully crossed. Cats pranced gleefully in the hallway, danced along the kitchen counter tops, and snorted long lines of finely-ground catnip. The racket faded as the sun came up. I crept down the hall to find cats snoring raucously on the couch, the end tables, the kitchen table, and even on top of my computer. They'd won. I'd moved down at least one rung on the household pecking order.
Labels: humor
posted by Ed W at 9:00 AM
3 Comments:
Crazy cat lady, indeed. I made the unsettling discovery, after a few years of meeting my wife's co-workers and acquaintances and engaging them in polite conversation, that my wife was well-regarded and in fact admired, and I realized that the more aberrant behavior seemed limited to the times she had to spend in my company. Was it connected? I chose to go riding. It was a nice day.
You are a wise man, Dave.
My wife is HIGHLY allergic to cats. As a result, I've never had any problems with same, other than one Tabby that comes over to visit on occasion from across the street. Our ancient dog doesn't even make that cat mildly nervous, but the cat makes no pretenses at anything more than a neighborly visit.
You see, it's all in the choice of a spouse! When she that must be obeyed makes a threat, just growl that you should have married that gal who was allergic to cats.
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