I love you but I’m going to kill you.

The cat, in its natural state of being a complete asshole.

Because fuck you, that’s why.

Last evening, one of my cats came within a whisker’s breadth of being skinned an eaten in a fit of Biblical wrath.  I swear, I’m not a violent man, but I was filled with such towering rage that I was completely prepared to choke a bitch.  It was only through a judicial application of shouting and cursing that saved my cat’s life last night.

Hey, if they're good enough for Lee Marvin...

Outsanding – and they are mild.

The fiancée and I arrived home yesterday afternoon from our foray out into the wilds of Long Island, tired but happy, and looking forward to a nice, relaxing evening together.  Lucky for us, neither the Queens-Midtown nor the Lincoln tunnels collapsed atop our heads in a paroxysm of glorious carnage, and somehow we emerged unscathed from our brief stint on the New Jersey Turnpike (I briefly considered celebrating by drinking an entire bottle of bourbon and chain-smoking a pack of Pall Malls, but I like my liver and lungs just the way they are, thank you).

I will kill you with my bear hands!

If only I could.

We were greeted at the door by our herd of house cats, who were all quite happy to see us, and I settled down in front of the computer to see if I couldn’t find a copy of the latest episode of Game of Thrones available somewhere on the interwebs.  Unfortunately, my parents don’t have HBO so we missed Sunday’s episode, and while we could have gone over and watched it at our next-door neighbors like we do in a big group every Sunday, it seemed kind of bad form to invite ourselves over – so yes, I found a torrent and downloaded it.

Yes, yes, blah blah blah, pirating is evil, whatever.  We were watching the series for free anyway since we don’t have HBO ourselves, so don’t give me any shit for the equivalent of borrowing a VHS tape from a friend.  It’s not like I’m re-packaging it and selling it on the street corner.  In other words, come at me, HBO bros.

Or Get Him To The Greek, either.

Not nearly as cool as that one scene in Pulp Fiction.

Anyway, I was busy looking for a subtitle track for my fiancée (she just got a new pair of hearing aids this weekend, but it’s still difficult to follow television shows without subtitles or closed captions), when I hear a shout from behind me.  “There’s a wasp in the house!” my fiancée calls out. While this is more than a little disturbing for most people, for us it’s literally a matter of life-and-death, as my fiancée is allergic to the point where she’d need an EpiPen if she gets stung in order to, you know, prevent anaphylactic shock, so I practically leap over my computer chair to corral the little bastard with a drinking glass from the kitchen.

Lucky for us, I caught him easily; I was busy slipping a thick piece of cardboard under the glass so I could deposit the little bugger outside when I heard an alarming splash.  I turn to see one of our wonderful, sweet, beloved cats standing innocently on the computer desk, above an upended water glass that had been set down there when the wasp warning went out.  Water was cascading over the edge of the desk to the floor – right where we kept the god damned computer case.

Goddammit!

You little motherfucker.

Now, I love my fiancée.  I’d literally jump on a grenade for her if it came down to it.  But when I saw Niagara Fucking Falls drenching the only working computer left in the house, I abandoned that trapped wasp like I was a Republican and it was a single mother of six in need of medical care.  Considering how if this computer fries, I can’t earn a living, it was completely justified, and after I mopped up the massive spill like a whirling dervish composed of two parts bath towel and three parts withering streams of invective, I had to spend the rest of the evening trying to make sure the computer hadn’t suffered any serious damage.

First thing to go?  The Microsoft logo.  Got rubbed right off by 1998.

This mouse was the coolest shit ever in 1996.

The top bay of USB and audio ports got soaked pretty damn bad to the point where my headphone jack now thinks it’s constantly being plugged in and unplugged.  I finally had to disable it in order to stop it from freaking out; hopefully it will dry out on its own and I can turn it back on.  The USB ports on top are pretty goddamn useless now as well, and my wireless mouse got completely soaked to the point where it won’t turn on any more even if I put fresh batteries in it.   Thank god I’m a borderline hoarder and never throw anything away; my first-generation Microsoft IntelliMouse works just fine.  You know the one, with the bright red LED built into it and the DANGER – BLINDNESS HAZARD printed on the underside.

In other words, not exactly how I wanted to spend my evening.  Of course, the cat in question is now sleeping peacefully in the little patch of real estate in between my monitor and keyboard, completely content in the fact that, yes, he was a complete asshole earlier, but he’s cute so he gets a pass.

One of these days, though, he’s gonna push me too far.  I’ll be re-stringing my violin that day.

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8 thoughts on “I love you but I’m going to kill you.

  1. This is exactly why I refuse to live with a cat. My wife is the only “cat” I’ll live with. Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re adorable and whatnot, but they’re destructive little fuckers, and not really trainable.

  2. Pingback: There’s no vagina in this post, but mentioning got your attention, didn’t it? « Amateur Professional

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