It turns out that I'm not as good with animals as I had previously thought.
I know that I am not the most nurturing person, but I am disappointed in my cat. Hissy's misbehavior is a reflection of my failures at raising decent, animal G*d fearing, contributing member of the animal kingdom. Sue, my striking, yet borderline retarded friend told me that when her dog acts up, she buys him a toy. Yesterday, after kenneling Butters all day, she bought him an $11 bear with a blue ribbon around it's neck.
"I know the pink ribbon is for breast cancer, but what's the blue ribbon for?" she asked me via text. "Darfur," I replied. "Cool, I don't support wearing real fur." I love her, because she makes me feel so smart.
Knowing that Sue spent $11 on a dog toy didn't make me feel any better. I make Sue look like the picture of financial responsibility.
Disturbed by our recent move, Hissy has decided that his litter box is no longer his preferred place to pee. Rather, he finds that the rug in front of the sliding glass door is appropriate. He waits in front of the glass for hours until the local stray approaches. They stare at each other, both of them puffed up, for twenty minute stretches before Hissy decides to pee in front of the other other cat. He runs around here, panting, with his mouth open. Unable to accept that he may have a behavioral problem, I brought him to the vet.
Several hundred dollars later, the vet has determined that Hissy is unhappy. Not a bladder infection; not poisoning from tainted pet food. He is simply disgruntled with his environment. I wanted to tell her that I am disgruntled too, but thus far I have kept up my normal toilet habits. Instead of prescribing kitty anti-depressants, she sent us home with a $50 cat pheromone air freshener. I still cannot believe that I just paid $50 for a plug-in hormone diffuser that is supposed to give my cat a sense of calm and well-being in a 650 square foot radius. I admit that I think it's working. I spent all yesterday lying in a patch of sunlight on the floor and occasionally drinking out of the toilet. Hissy, on the other paw, feels very sexy and has been carefully grooming himself in his erogenous kitty zones. This diffuser will last a month before I will need to purchase a refill. Until then, we are happy and high on hormones.
Over some potent catnip and breathing in kitty vapors, Hiss and I talked last night about where I went wrong in his kittenhood. He told me about his days on the streets. About how he never really knew his mother. About his foster home. I feel like I've done everything for him. He's wanted for nothing since I adopted him. Sure, I don't let him go outside, but there is nothing for him out there. He has all the toys that he could ever need here. I buy him sushi grade tuna and he sleeps in my bed. Those are privileges exclusive to him.
As I was defending myself, I was overcome with a feeling of guilt. If I had adopted a child, I would have had a baby shower. I would have registered at Baby Depot for a stroller and a high chair and other baby accessories. My friends would have planned all the games and gifted us with a supply of diapers and bibs and vomit rags and stuff.
When I adopted Hissy, I went to the pet store and fell in love because he would look so good with my curtains and sofa. I bought all of the cat accessories on the spot and took Hissy home. No one wants to feel like a spontaneous decision. We all want to know that someone has wanted us for a long time.
I passed the catnip to Hissy and told him that to make it up to him, tomorrow, I'll be registering at PetSmart. He shrugged, licked his a$$hole, and looked contemplative for a moment. Then he shredded the skin on my left hand.
I'm looking into boarding schools.
PS: Thanks to everyone who let me know my comments were off this morning.
PPS: Perry has invited me to babysit his blog, Intelligent Humor while he does a little hard time. I'll be over there today if you'd like to drop by. If not, please bake him cake with a file in it.