Marc
Cats
We have a cat now. It's name is Crapface. We named it that so our female roommate, Erin, also the person that brought this cat into our apartment, wouldn't get too attached to it. Unfortunately, it hasn't worked. Not at all, actually. I thing that even I like that damned cat now, and am growing kind of attached to it. Having it around has made me think that I (a) could easily become a Inspector Gadget/James Bond-esque supervillain with a cute little kitty constantly sitting on my lap as I stroke, as I hatch my half-assed schemes for world domination;***1*** (b) still don't like cats at all. I've always hated the little, shitless layabouts cause they never do anything. I'll speak more on this in a moment; and, (c) am allergic, kind of, to the little furball.
So, let's look at (b). I've never been a pet person. In fact, minus the pets of various roommates,***2*** I've never actually owned a pet. It's true. My mom would never let us have any, plus I never really wanted any cause I was deathly afraid of dogs as a kid. It didn't help that my best friends growing up had these psycho dogs that were both huge and vicious. Jesse, for example, had Ozzy, a monstrous something-or-other breed that was nearly as tall as I was at one point, and would not stop jumping and snapping at me. Bob's dog, this little fucker named Libby, was small but mean, and would go insane if you got near it's Hulk Hogan wrestling/humping pillow. We would waste so much time watching that dog hump the shit out of the Hulk while it stared us all down, daring us to come near. That's concentration, baby.
So, anyways, Crapface. He's a kitten. He's maybe even a she. I don't know. Haven't looked. Yesterday, I was playing my Madden game, and he comes running up to me out of nowhere, jumps on my chest, puts his little head down, and falls asleep, and stays that way for nearly two hours. He must've been having little kitty nightmares, like big dogs chasing him around or terrible thoughts of us putting him in the cooler for being bad or whatev, because he kept twitching and twisting and turning, and waking up occasionally, yawning, and then falling back to sleep. When he's awake, he's insane. Apparently he hates hand, which is funny, cause I've always hated hands, too. Fuck 'em, right? For him, though, it's probably ten times worse on account of him not having an opposable thumb and whatnot, and he's probably all jealous, and this all translates into him constantly chasing any number of hands around any number of situations. Video games. Typing. Writing on the kitchen counter. Petting him. Whatev. He scratches and nibbles, but it's cute because they're your hands and he's a little kitty, and ... aww. Look everyone, he hates hands. That's so cute.
I don't know if we'll keep him. It's against the lease and everything, but I don't know how anyone would ever find out. I'm just praying that my constant repitition of the name Crapface will stick, and that, no matter how hard she tries, Erin will never be able to name him anything but. Word.
***1*** interesting note about myself -- I've never seen a Bond film. Never. Can you believe it?
***2*** Dan's chinchilla (Axl), Larry's fish, Matt's guinea pig (The Captain), Al's mini-hamster (HamStar), Matt's ex-girlfriend's/Erin's/Michelle's stupid fish (Bunny/Fishy/Tumor)***2a***, Matt's fish (Swimmy & Mergatroid), Erin's other fishees, and so on.
Cats
We have a cat now. It's name is Crapface. We named it that so our female roommate, Erin, also the person that brought this cat into our apartment, wouldn't get too attached to it. Unfortunately, it hasn't worked. Not at all, actually. I thing that even I like that damned cat now, and am growing kind of attached to it. Having it around has made me think that I (a) could easily become a Inspector Gadget/James Bond-esque supervillain with a cute little kitty constantly sitting on my lap as I stroke, as I hatch my half-assed schemes for world domination;***1*** (b) still don't like cats at all. I've always hated the little, shitless layabouts cause they never do anything. I'll speak more on this in a moment; and, (c) am allergic, kind of, to the little furball.
So, let's look at (b). I've never been a pet person. In fact, minus the pets of various roommates,***2*** I've never actually owned a pet. It's true. My mom would never let us have any, plus I never really wanted any cause I was deathly afraid of dogs as a kid. It didn't help that my best friends growing up had these psycho dogs that were both huge and vicious. Jesse, for example, had Ozzy, a monstrous something-or-other breed that was nearly as tall as I was at one point, and would not stop jumping and snapping at me. Bob's dog, this little fucker named Libby, was small but mean, and would go insane if you got near it's Hulk Hogan wrestling/humping pillow. We would waste so much time watching that dog hump the shit out of the Hulk while it stared us all down, daring us to come near. That's concentration, baby.
So, anyways, Crapface. He's a kitten. He's maybe even a she. I don't know. Haven't looked. Yesterday, I was playing my Madden game, and he comes running up to me out of nowhere, jumps on my chest, puts his little head down, and falls asleep, and stays that way for nearly two hours. He must've been having little kitty nightmares, like big dogs chasing him around or terrible thoughts of us putting him in the cooler for being bad or whatev, because he kept twitching and twisting and turning, and waking up occasionally, yawning, and then falling back to sleep. When he's awake, he's insane. Apparently he hates hand, which is funny, cause I've always hated hands, too. Fuck 'em, right? For him, though, it's probably ten times worse on account of him not having an opposable thumb and whatnot, and he's probably all jealous, and this all translates into him constantly chasing any number of hands around any number of situations. Video games. Typing. Writing on the kitchen counter. Petting him. Whatev. He scratches and nibbles, but it's cute because they're your hands and he's a little kitty, and ... aww. Look everyone, he hates hands. That's so cute.
I don't know if we'll keep him. It's against the lease and everything, but I don't know how anyone would ever find out. I'm just praying that my constant repitition of the name Crapface will stick, and that, no matter how hard she tries, Erin will never be able to name him anything but. Word.
***1*** interesting note about myself -- I've never seen a Bond film. Never. Can you believe it?
***2*** Dan's chinchilla (Axl), Larry's fish, Matt's guinea pig (The Captain), Al's mini-hamster (HamStar), Matt's ex-girlfriend's/Erin's/Michelle's stupid fish (Bunny/Fishy/Tumor)***2a***, Matt's fish (Swimmy & Mergatroid), Erin's other fishees, and so on.
- ***2a*** this fish, I swear, did not want to die. First, it was staying alive out of spite, a day-to-day reminder to all of us of what could go wrong if we follow our hearts. Second, it got passed around from dorm to apartment to apartment to apartment, by a non-stop series of people who laid claim to him, then gave him up because they had to have realized, eventually, that fish are just totally fucking boring. He finally kicked the can after getting this gargantuan tumor on the side of his body, hence the final name, Tumor. To be honest, I was kind of glad to see him go. My roommate's boyfriend finally scooped him out after three or four days of little to no movement, and threw him out into the parking lot where, I'm assuming, he was most likely run over by a car, finally returning to the soil from which he sprang. It was beautiful.
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