Warning: This is not a funny, happy blog. It’s ranting in its purest form.
So my mind went to a really dark place the other night. As I was preparing my children’s bedroom for bed time, I went to Stella’s bed to turn back the covers like I do every single night. As I turned back her fluffy Hello Kitty comforter, I caught that unmistakable odor of cat piss. I began to sniff frantically and angrily around her bedding like a mad dog. Sure enough, one of my Three Stupid Cats had peed on my daughter’s bed.
Yes, one of them is an emotional pee-er and tends to pee in the vomitorium. But he has rarely targeted anything outside of that room. Even the time my purse was victimized, it was in “their” space. What if I had a cold and been unable to detect the stench? What if Will had put them to bed? No offense to him, but his nose just isn’t as keen as mine is on a regular non-congested basis. I can’t bear the idea of my little girl slumbering in a piss-soaked bed.
I understand that my cats have not been overjoyed by my children. Hell, there have been times I have not been overjoyed by my children. And lately Stella has taken to chasing them when they try to travel from room to room. But urinating is different from the yakking up of hairballs; it takes matters into a level that is not just inconvenient but truly unhygienic. Rather than being unavoidable, it’s deliberate and malevolent.
I scrambled to strip her bed, find a replacement mattress pad (we only have one for her bed, unfortunately, so I pretty much wrapped her mattress in one from our giant bed), find a suitable replacement for her comforter, and stuff the soiled linens in the washer.
I’m going to confess something. I wished this cat dead. There. I said it. I’m 95% sure which cat it is. He frequently makes my life miserable. If it weren’t for the guilt that would eat away at me, he’d either be kicked outside, dropped off at a shelter, or the victim of foul play. I know there are loads of no-kill shelters, but his chances of adoption are pretty slim: he’s roughly 9 years old, black, not particularly cute/pretty, and he’s INSANE.
I know he’s just acting out. He’s a furry nut without the benefit of language. His whole world has been rocked multiple times: moving in with us, taking in a 3rd cat, moving into our house, Stella, and now Felix. But. I. Can’t. Have. Him. Peeing. On. My. Kids’. Stuff.
I’ve told Will that if something “accidentally” were to happen, I didn’t want to know about it. I only said that because I don’t think Will could/would do it, either.
Is it wrong to fantasize about an animal’s demise?
You watch. This is going to be the cat that lives forever.