Pussy

So, I have four cats.

Four fuzzy fuckin’ felines, who, through happenstance and subliminal suggestion, came into my life and declared me their own. It’s been a length of time since I moved in to the SBP, and in that span I’ve really come to experience and appreciate each of their unique personalities. Three of them are black, one is white; three of them are male, one is female; one is moving along into the elder years, one is settling into a comfortable middle age after years of fighting and fucking, and the last two, siblings, are pure adolescents. They are my roommates and they drive me crazy. And they are my friends.

I suppose that makes me a cat lady. Where’s my tin cup? And that chrissakin’ gin? Somebody tell those little bastards to stop peddling past my house on them goddamned souped-up bi-cycles.

Anyway, I recently found myself searching Amazon for cat shit scoopers. The purpose behind this quest is a tale for another day, but one of the things I came across was this: OMG! A Diaper Genie for cat shit!

Okay, so I can completely understand the desire not to have your home smelling of stale kitty poo, but a plastic can with a rotating cranker to drop the shit you just scooped into a specially designed, six dollar each plastic bag where it can languish for weeks without offending delicate sensibilities is a wee bit silly. Jesus christ, just tie that shit off in a plastic grocery sack and walk it with your lazy ass out to the goddamned garbage can. The flagrant waste of money and resources here makes the miser in me go into fits.

And also:

Drunk: Getting there.
Hearing: The beer fridge humming. Cats tearing the place apart.
Drinking: The last of the tequila, the last of the bourbon, a Mirror Pond and two Blue Boars. My neurologist told me I need to cut back on my drinking.
Smoking: The last of the bowl left over from my most recent evening with the Bed Warmer.

~ by malfunctioningmartha on April 14, 2009.