We all have buried aggression against our cats. Aren't you tired of their shit? Am I alone in this?
I am not.
The Omaha World-Herald has this perfect story of a man who accidentally went hog wild on edibles and finally let the family cat know just how he feels about the years upon years of getting granules of litter stuck to his bare feet after he just. fucking. swept.
The 53-year-old found a bunch of regular-seeming, not-suspicious brownies that his adult children had left in the back seat of the car. He ate four of them.
Naturally, he felt some "bad anxiety" later, which seems like a light way to describe how I'd feel after four pot brownies, but, you know, maybe his kids made some weak-sauce edibles. Also, four is a lot even when the brownies don't have weed in them. The sugar high alone...
Anyway, the man's wife called the police, and paramedics arrived to find him "crawling around on the floor, randomly using profanities and calling the family cat a 'bitch.'"
Look, I can't condone calling anyone a bitch, least of all a cat, because that just doesn't make any taxonomic sense. (Also, the man used the word "trippin'." Which is worse?) But it must have felt so good, in the face of the world's overwhelming need to venerate this admittedly-adorable animal, to express the anger one feels, even though you really do love that little fucker, when one's favorite orange tweed chair, an ideal spot for cozying up to binge watch Lady Dynamite, in, gets shredded and now lies outside, forlornly, waiting to be taken to the dump, and even though that old IKEA commercial tried to tell you that furniture doesn't have feelings, every time you see the chair, you know it knows. It knows.
What were we talking about?
Oh yeah. Paramedics said the Omaha man's vital signs were good, and they let him stay home to ride that shit out.
EOD=End of Day. We're done. Go home. That reminds me, I need to pick up prescription meds for my tabby.