That Fucking Cat strikes again!
Last night a muffled cry of MOM MOM MOM! came from the boys’ room.
Naturally I dropped everything and ran to their aid.
Ha ha ha … no.
I went into their room with a camera, natch.
Testiclese was in bed with That Fucking Cat sitting on his face and he had to rub my nose in it.
I have been luring, training, begging, DYING for That Fucking Cat to sleep on my face for over a year now and here she is on my son’s face?!
This is such typical cat bullshit.
Their little Feline Assphyxiation session lasted about five minutes and then he came into my room to gloat.
He plopped down on the bed next to me ready to share the juicy details of his conquest.
Me: Oh my god! How was it?
Testi: Awesome (said in a totally gloaty no big deal way like when Stephé posted on FB that she just happened to be sitting next to Bjork in an Icelandic hotspring)
Me: I’m so jealous …
Testi: I know. I got some cat hair in my mouth and nose but it was totally worth it.
I’m not kidding. This is exactly how the conversation went. I wish I could have recorded it because it was solid gold.
I’m so proud of him. He couldn’t be more like me if he tried. I mean the cat butt, the gloating … that is total Viv.
We are crazy about our pets with an emphasis on the crazy part.
We love That Fucking Cat even though she destroys toilet paper with élan.
My stupid dog insists on being walked at inconvenient hours – like 5am – and I do it.
Loony is into Kitty Attachment Parenting and can often be caught walking around with her zipped into his clothing. What’s really annoying is that she seems to like it.
Scrotus is into chickens and is definitely weird about it.
And there is me, the neighborhood lothario, looking to put as many notches in my bedpost as possible with highly reluctant neighborhood studs.
My heart swells with pride knowing that my kids will carry on in my kooky cat/dog/chicken lady footsteps.
After all, there are directions for how to do things right and how to be normal but there isn’t a blueprint for how to be yourself.
I daresay I spent the first 30 years of my life failing at being normal and I’ve spent the last 12 trying to figure out who I am and what I want.
I’ve been going for it for the last two years, with a bullet.
In the sage words of a long-lost friend, “There is the right way. There is the wrong way. And there is my way.”
Sometimes it bites me in the ass, like at the Halloween party, but oops, out of time again.
Suck it CBXB! I’m not writing about it until we make a plan to get in HUGE trouble together. In person. Fuck this blog-o-sphere bullshit.