You know what? Today was going to be about book spines. I was going to come on here, complain how annoying it is when I have to browse through book after book with all these titles printed sideways, hunched over like I’m Quasimodo or some bullshit, but just as I’m getting ready to type, my current roommate’s cat, Mal, walks right up next to me, bends over, and completely vomits over my feet. No warning, just “huuagh”. Mal then stares at me, flicking its little tail, as if to say, “Now what, bitch?”. I did not ask for this. I have been as pleasant as I can be to this cat and all I have to show for it is the remains of its breakfast laid out neatly over my socks. I’m sure I could think of a reason if I wanted to. Perhaps it was offering up the contents of its stomach as a token of appreciation for my everlasting fealty. Perhaps it was feeling sick and the white fuzz of my socks looked like an angel’s cloud of comfort for which to lay one’s troubles upon. I could think of a multitude of answers as to why this fucking cat just barfed all over me, but I would be deluding myself. The truth is, there is only one reason when it comes to why cats do things. They are literally evil and want to watch us suffer.
But whatever, I have opposable thumbs. Far be it for me to judge the lesser of god’s creations. I cleaned up the mess, sat down to begin typing…and Mal jumped up onto the back of my chair and began biting my ear. Hard. I mean, really?! There is an infinite amount of things around this apartment for Mal to play with but apparently it will not rest until I am good and tormented. Again, evil. But despite the bother, Mal is hardly the worst cat i’ve had to deal with. That honor goes to my previous roommate’s cat, Drake.
Or as I would call him, “I Swear To God, I’m Going To Kill You With Rat Poison The Moment I Get The Chance”
Let me preface this by a small bit of advice. If you live in a small apartment, and your roommate asks if it is ok for him to get a cat, and your roommate isn’t particularly clean in the first place, and your girlfriend is allergic to cats, but you feel kind of bad for your roommate because he’s seemed kind of lonely recently, and I mean, your roommate REALLY isn’t that clean in the first place, DO NOT LET HIM GET A CAT. Doing so will unleash upon you an agony greater than you have ever known. It will transform your once nice apartment into a festering stinkhole dimension that not only has the power to ward off any wandering good spirits (plus, your friends), but also a toxicity level high enough to instantly kill any small bio-organism less than 1.3 lbs. This cat, I don’t…I don’t even know where to begin. Put simply, it had a butt problem. Drake had almost constant diarrhea. All day, everyday. But fine, that’s what litter boxes are for, right? NOPE. Drake would just dribble out shit as he walked around the house, leaving a little poo path for you to accidentally stumble upon in the middle of the night.
The Beatles had a similar cat problem
So after one too many mud bombs, we decided that Drake had to be contained in my roommate’s room where the litter box was until he was completely potty trained. But, oh no, Drake would not be foiled so easily. Apparently, he was just too good to shit in a box, because he began shitting all over my roommate’s bed. And thus began the fated contest between my roommate and Drake; my roommate attempting to wash and keep his sheets clean as much as possible and Drake attempting to keep them covered in a fine layer of cat shit. Unfortunately, as our apartment began to smell like a clogged up toilet after a burrito breakfast, it was clear that Drake was more determined than my roommate.
Oh great, and now Mal is back. This stupid cat, I could just….oh, she’s so fuzzy…and her little cute ears…Hi kitty, do you want to….oh, god. No…NO!!! AAAAHHHHGGGG! WHY DO I NEVER LEARN?!