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2005-08-01 - 3:12 p.m. I've never been the type of person to consider myself a "Cat Hater". I've had several cats as pets throughout my life and until now, this very day of August 1st, I solemnly swear to never own a cat again. I'm suffering from cat overdose right now. The case of Victoria & Crockett: Victoria and Crockett no longer live at our house. They were relocated to the upstairs of William's office building in February of 2005. This was to be a temporary solution to appease my brother-in-law's allergies during a week long visit. However, after basking in the glow of my dander-less, hairless, non-puke stained furniture and flooring during their absence I began to think that perhaps they (*nod*nod*wink*wink*) would be happier down at the office. Happy or not I was tired of scooping up long hair Victoria's "hair sausages" and vacuuming my floors 6 times a day. Yes - we brushed her on a regular basis, however, her passion for licking off her entire coat could not be competed with. On top of that, we were persuaded not to de-claw either of our cats on the pretext that it was inhumane. Well, after coming home one evening to a window full of tattered lint that used to be my beautiful cellular blinds I considered having Crockett's entire front limbs amputated. Paint is scratched off of our kitchen walls during attempted leaps up onto the window sill, the vinyl on both kitchen bar stools has been "kneaded" into ribbons, and our couch is bleeding stuffing out of the arm rests. No more cats in my house. The case of Voltamar, Zita, Henry & Napoleon: A dear friend of the family, proud owner of 275 or so odd cats, an older man was forced into lesser living conditions which did not include room for more than 3 of his cats. The remaining cats went to who else - but my dear kind hearted husband who agreed to keep them at his office. All of these cats have had minimal human contact other than with their former owner, the old man. This is with the exception of Henry who is a rather social cat. All said and done, he's a pretty cool cat, but the fact that he just puked on my leg has built up a bit of anger toward him and the rest of the damned cats down here. Voltamar and Zita are the two black cats that are living in one of the back offices. They were taken in as stray kittens. "Bad ass" Henry, former fight picking, king of the land, stray that he once was adopted them as his babies and ever since has allowed them to cuddle up with him. He even let them eat first - or he did until they got bigger. Voltamar and Zita freak the fuck out at the very sound of human footsteps and scurry off into crevices and caves. I've seen them maybe four times in the 4 months that they've been living down here. I might not know that they're even here but for the visible noxious fumes emanating from the back office. The cats, or their food, litter box, or all of the above, to put it simply FUCKING REAK. Sometimes I walk past their room just to make sure that my gag reflex is still working. I wouldn't want that to short out on me! Really, I'd go in there and clean up the whole fuming mess myself just so I didn't have to smell it anymore, but I'm REALLY not in the mood for a bout of toxoplasmosis right now on top of all of my other pregnancy aches and pains. That room is probably CRAWLING with it. Napoleon was here for awhile. He was designated to the kitchen area, much to his delight and to the dismay of anyone attempting to enjoy their lunch in there. He'd hear a potato chip bag crinkle and he was up on your lap in .2 seconds trying to tear it out of your hand. No politeness or trying to look cute for hand outs. Suddenly you'd be faced with an unexpected hard core lunch hijacking. Eventually and fortunately Napoleon found a home and that was just dynamite. The rest of these cats are about to find a home outside if all of this puking and stinking persists. The puke ON my leg was the last straw.
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