Atomictumor

I’m very thankful that GAC’s not here.

Hey, falling into the “worrying about more than one thing at the time” category, we’ve agreed (reluctantly on some parts) to find another home for the cats.

When GAC comes home I don’t want any distractions, scratching at odd hours, smells, dander, hair, or messes.

I’d prefer to put them in a home today, but I’ll settle for a pound.  I don’t have a lot of time to do it.

If anybody wants to help out by adopting these things, we’d appreciate it.  If you have a zoo (Netmom, I’m looking at you), don’t put yourself out or strain yourself.

Circle of cat life, man.

I love you, GAC.

OK, this is going to be ugly, brutal truth.  I am being completely honest about something that bothers me.  This may be shocking, this may sound cruel, but since I’m talking to my computer, its OK.  If you people happen along and read this tripe, well, what you do with it is not up to me.

I hate having cats.

To go further, I sincerely, and strongly, wish that I had never ventured into owning the things.  I’ve never liked animals much, and never intended to own one.  Yes, those of you capable of using our search function may well point out “AT, keeping those things was totally your idea”.

Well, sod off.

Yah, it was my idea, and I really, really tried to make it work.  I enjoyed having them around for the first week or so, as they were exploring the house, and watching their personalities and interactions with each other, much like a Mutual of Omaha thing. When they started jumping around scratching my stuff (our bodies included), knocking shit off the tables, and being rowdy, I chalked it up to them being kittens, and figured that when they got fixed they’d grow out of it.

When they started obliterating my furniture, and befouling my kitchen table, I sucked it up and tried to contain the gradually growing urge to kick them out.

But when I got back from the anniversary to find my favorite records on the floor (along with much of the living room looking like a post-party trash), that was it.  GAC had been starting to feel the same way I did, and we decided to get rid of the cats.

MastaG flipped out.  He sobbed himself to sleep.  He and Pigpen don’t mind having the cats around, and probably enjoy them more than I notice, but less than they think they do (the great child conundrum).  As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t get rid of them.  We talked each other down to keeping one cat, to keeping two, to keeping all three (again).

Now, I know I sound petty, and superficial, but this thing goes down really deep with me.  I think having the cats around is at the root of my little funk recently, because I just DON’T LIKE being in my own house around them.  Its hard to be around them without thoughts of little kitty massacres dancing through my head.

I think part of it is a territorial thing.  I’ll be doing laundry, or washing dishes, or the kind of work where your mind wanders, and I’ll see something moving out of the corner of my eye.  For that split second, I go into the same mode I go in if there’s a fly, or a mouse, or something like that in the house= KILL.  But then I remember that these things are living here now, and by our actions have as much right to the place as I do (gulp).

I figure they can sense this animosity from me, because they scatter when I walk their way.  This irritates me more.  Now, instead of just disliking them because they’re little and hairy and destructive and smell bad, I dislike them because they’re weaselly and cowardly.  For some reason, this bothers some other simple monkey part of my brain that I don’t understand, but nonetheless am imparting upon you.
Furthermore,  I feel like I’m often on the hook for cleaning up after the things.  I don’t understand how, from a Darwinian point of view, I am scooping their poo.  They must find it as odd as I do, because they gather around me while I’m kneeled over their litter box sifting filth, just watching, waiting for me to be done so they can head on in and drop a fresh duke that I’ll be scooping.  GAC is often too busy doing her thing to do it, and MastaG evidently can’t be arsed to do it unless I tell him specifically to do so, and its less effort for me to do it than to track him down and knuckle him into the job.

So, here we are.  I’ve admitted that I have a problem, and I’m not sure how much longer I can put up with it.  I’d love the idea of having them, because they make my kids happy, so I wouldn’t mind being a martyr, but the problem is I’m afraid I’m going to snap one of these days and eat them.

No, seriously, I can’t stand not liking being in my house.  I’ve been constantly stressed lately.  Maybe the cats aren’t the reason, but I’m going on 3 months of pretty much just straight up hating them, and I’m sure that that would have an impact on anybodies psychological state.

But what do I do???  I don’t wish the little bastards harm, just because I don’t like seeing things in pain (I’ve told GAC that I don’t want them dead, I just want them not to be alive around me anymore, but she thought I was joking), and because I don’t want to hurt my kids by knowing that their Popopolese (which is still the best name in the world) was too inconvenient to their father to live.

I mean, if that’s not selfish and petty, than what is

So, help me out.  If you’re first thought is “suck it up and quit whining”, tho, bugger off.  I’d be happy to redirect all this anger at somebody else, but theres no reason to.

From WBIR.com,

“…cats were running at large and damaging property.”

Anyone know any jokes that involve cats and in-laws?

Squirrels don’t like me.

Back in the day, I’d hang out at my buddies house in Chattanooga being generally thuggish and troublesome, but I stayed away from one particular tree in a neighboring house, because The Squirrel lived there.

Now, I don’t know what I did to the squirrel to piss it off, but lemme tell you, it was pissed. Maybe it was some kind of reincarnation thing, where I smote it in a past life or something, or maybe it just didn’t like the cut of my gib, but that bastard would shoot to kill whenever I approached. My little brother, my friends, anybody else were OK, but if I got within 20 or so feet of the mother tree, I’d get a warning chirp, then an attack cry (like a squirrelly ululation), then a high velocity walnut to the temple.

That bastard had some accuracy and range to go with that super-throwing-death arm that it possessed. Once I heard the cry, I’d know I came too close. There’d be no outrunning The Squirrel, because it’d clip you with at least two nuts before you got out of range. You never quite knew where they were coming from either, on account of the uncanny camouflage of The Squirrel.

Since then, squirrel activity seems to have become more and more aggressive. The hickory nut tree in my back yard only seems to drop nuts when I’m outside, leaving me to think they’re dropbombing me. I’m now almost certain they were responsible for the crack in the windshield that the poor Volvo received last year.

To that end, I was dismayed by two events.

First, I found this report from Mountain View, CA, indicating that guerilla squirrels are aggressively attacking 4 year olds and others this summer, indicating that the philosophy of The Squirrel has moved westward, as all philosophies inevitably do, in preparation of worldwide adoption. This is a problem, because while the government has been sure to work up laws authorizing torture and wiretapping, this is only effective against human opponents. In fact, as the American intelligence organizations are loathe to admit, the squirrels series of chirps, in the .01 and 10 KHZ range, has been found to be uncrackable thus far.

Theres no way to know what they’re planning in our back yards, but you can bet its going to be ugly, and probably nutty, as well.

Second, and more importantly, is that I crushed one of the bastards to death on Laboratory Road while driving to pick up the paycheck yesterday. Of course it was accidental, one of those moments when the beast is in the median of the road, not sure whether to zig or zag, and darts out. It cleared 3 of the wheels, but that rear passenger wheel came out of nowhere and nailed the poor bastard.

I can say its accidental all day long, but it won’t make a difference. They’re going to want vengeance.