9 Reasons why Cats are Assholes

Now don’t get me wrong, I love cats. I even have two. One of them is really cute and he’s my favourite. The other one isn’t that cute and doesn’t really have any redeeming factors. But you know what? Cute or not, they’re assholes.

And thus brings me to my list of 9 Reasons why Cats are Assholes. Enjoy.

Impatience. They will not wait their turn and therefore demand to be fed as soon as you walk in the door. There will be no going to the toilet. There will be no checking the mail. There will be no setting the groceries down. Pee in your pants if you must, let the ice cream melt for all I care, you will feed me NOW or you will feel the wrath of my infectious claws in your leg.
Birds. They will happily catch birds (I’m sorry, Gareth Morgan) and drag their bloody, dismembered carcasses throughout the house, shedding feathers and internal organs as they go, sitting proudly over the dead body waiting for a congratulatory pat (or treat). However, when there is a mouse running loose in the house, they’d rather sit and watch you chase said mouse up and down stairs and up and down curtains (I swear, I had no idea mice could climb) for LITERALLY 30 MINUTES, before falling asleep while you crumble, defeated and sweaty, on the couch.
Litter trays. They utilise litter boxes to the max, leaving you nasty treasures which you dutifully clean up, eyes smarting and stomach churning, before hopping right back in to deposit a steaming pile of smelly poop whilst staring you straight in the eye with a “You better clean this good when I’m done, wench, I sleep in here too” look on their face.
Curtains. Oh, the curtains. Never mind the state-of-the-art scratching post in the corner with a kitty hammock and hidey-house that nearly touches the roof. I’ll use the fucking curtains to sharpen my claws, thanks. On sunny mornings, our drapes look like the goddam Milky Way.
Fur. The general rule of thumb is: the whiter your cat’s fur, the more they like to rub themselves all over your black clothes. Especially when they’ve just come out of the wash. And even more especially when you’re running late for work and you’ve run out of sticky bits on the lint roller so you’re forced to sit at your desk (once you’ve rushed into the office, blushing at your tardiness) picking five million pieces of white hair off your top with tiny pieces of sticky tape.
Furballs. It’s like fur, but generally makes it’s presence known in a pukey ball of smelly goo on your white rug. Never mind moving over half a metre to vom it up on the wooden floorboards, the shag rug will do just fine.
Paws. And mud. Fur. And rain. Terrible combinations. Muddy prints all over your carpetfloorboardsbenchtopbedspread and a house that smells like wet dog.
They eat your food when you’re not looking. Or when you are looking. It doesn’t really matter. In our household, you don’t leave a meal uncovered ‘cos it’ll get eaten by a cat. Even if that meal happens to be spinach and feta pie. They’re not picky, they’ll go vego if they have to.
They are loyal to no one but themselves. Will you feed me? Then I like you best. Oh you won’t feed me? Then you’re dead to me. Pat me, there, NOT there. OK stop patting me now. Now start again, no stop, no start. YOU’RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT. Fuck, I’ll go find someone who can do it right then. Move over, you’re taking up too much of your corner of the bed. Oh what, you’re gonna kick me off? Your loss, there’s plenty of other beds in the neighbourhood I can crash on. Pick up my toys. No NOT the squeaky mouse, I’m still playing with that. Take that scratching post and stick it up your butt, I’m not using it. I don’t care how much it cost. Just stop being so stupid. Why are you so stupid? Humans are so inferior.

When it comes down to it though *sigh*, cats are cool, I guess. I mean I have to say that, I have two and I don’t want SPCA called on me. And anyway, sharing your life with a cat is kind of akin to sharing your life with Christian Grey – you don’t know where you stand, you spend most of your time trying to please them, and the rest of it healing from minor wounds. And who doesn’t want their very own Christian Grey…? Amirite?