Plays Well With Others

What have I become …

Over the weekend I cat-sitted my mom’s cat. Is cat-sitted a word? Anyway, my mom and sister were going to take care of some wedding stuff – buy dresses and crap like that – and while they were at it, they wanted to set off one of those flea bomb things in the house, since the cat is eating itself alive. So guess who got to watch the flea-infested piece of crap.


This entry is two-fold, so try to follow me here. First off, that whole flea-bomb thing scares the hell out of me. I mean, you have to basically seal the house up and then set off this spray can in your house. The only thing I can think of is that something is going to hit and open flame and blow the house right off its foundation. I guess the fleas are gone now. But besides that, isnt everything in your house going to be covered in flea spray, like say, your FOOD. I think my mom’s theory is that if she’s survived the pesticides that are put on food, then a little flea spray shouldn’t be a problem. Ugh.. I dont know about that stuff.

Of course, getting rid of the fleas is top priority. At this point, the cat is waking up at night and literally bouncing off the walls because of them. They’ve done the flea dip things, the flea collars and I’m at the point of suggesting they just shave the cat bald and buy him a little cat coat that they can throw in the wash. I think it might work.

Regardless, the cat hates me. He’s got a bad temper. The only time he likes me is if I sit in a certain spot on the sofa that he feels is alright and then he’ll climb on me and fall asleep. At that point, he’s sort of cute. Of course, its all a part of brilliantly crafted plan. See, once he falls asleep and starts drooling all over my shirt, you can’t move him – at all. If you even breathe the wrong way he goes haywire. He starts growling and hissing and shows me his teeth. Ugh. Damn cat.

When they got him, his entire body fit in the palm of your hand. He was probably five inches long at the most. He couldnt jump on the couch but tried really hard and would scale the sofa to get up on top of it. Sometimes we’d walk into the living room to see him halfway up the side of the sofa, scaling it. He’s also sleep inside those mini tacobell bags – not like the spoiled brat didnt have a bed or anything, in fact he had about three of them throughout the house. He liked the taco bell bags the best. We even taught him to play ball. We’d throw it, he’d chase it and then bring it back and drop it at our feet. Kind of a dog-cat type of thing going on. Now he’s just a fat blob that sleeps all the time.

So, they brought him over to my apartment and he immediately squeezes his big ass under my sofa. They dragged him and out and he went right under there. Fine, at least I wont have to deal with his mood swings. Eventually they left and it was just me and him. Now the fun should begin.

Eventually, he dragged his sorry ass out of under the sofa and walked around a bit and then came running into my back room and squeezed himself under the extra bed, which is a daybed with a second bed that rolls under it. Somehow he got himself stuck in there. I ended up trying to get him out and all he’d do it hiss at me and try to scratch me, so in the end I left him there, after pulling the bed out from the wall just a little, so he wouldnt die or anything. Ugh, if he died, my mom would kill me – he’s her baby or something.

They came back after a few hours and basically had to tear my back room apart to get the little shit out from under the bed. Anyhow, that’s my cat sitting story …

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