måndag 23 januari 2012

I might be Jesus. Or just a really bad cat owner.

So, this morning I awoke, yawned and realised that my face was full of blood, dripping away in a jaunty manner without a care in the world. So, there I sat with bloody palms, blood flowing freely from my forehead and a very clueless expression on my face. Obviously, I assumed that these were stigmata wounds and that I was the new Jesus. I had the time to make a rough plan on how I could use my new position as the child of God in order to create peace on earth and end poverty and chain Dylan Moran in a gold bikini to me and all other things people usually wish for before I realised that I was probably not a supreme deity. The far more likely explanation for the blood was sitting right in front of me, proudly purring and licking his arse. My cat Nietzsche had probably tried to engrave his initials in my forehead (he never really got the hang of that grafitti thing, my cat), and he's freaking out because he's becoming a man-cat and therefore he's very angry all time and I try to sit him down and talk to him about what happens when a man-cat and a woman-cat love each other very much and hug a lot in order to get a kitten. Then he bit my finger so hard I bled all over him and I really don't think that bleeding on your child/cat is such a good parental style so I just gave up, gave him his weird favourite treats (raspberry yoghurt, müsli and koriander), whispered "Tomorrow we're having you neutered" and then ran like hell. It felt subtle. And now I'm afraid to fall asleep.

I have come to realize that raising a cat is at least as difficult as raising a baby. For one thing, babies don't wake you up in the morning by trying to bite your eye. Unless you have a homicidal baby. Then, you kind of have bigger problems to deal with than to read this. Another thing is the Chinese sleep deprivation torture that will occur every single night for the rest of your life and  make you age 60 years and become more and more like a Vietnam war veteran; rocking back and forth whilst repeating "I'VE SEEN SOME THINGS, MAN!" . but with less bombs and more angry kittens. Sounds awesome? Think again. However, cats do have some advantages compared to babies that I ought to mention.

Why cats are better than babies:
1. You can buy kittens and bring them home in a cage instead of pushing them through your vagina. In fact, pushing them through your vagina might even be frowned upon.
2. When you correct them by waterspraying them in the face, people don't overreact and call child services.
3. You can sterilise them without being judged by your neighbours.
4. If cats make noises during the night, you can just put them in the kitchen and close the door.
5. Even at a very early age, they learn how to use the litter box without any problems. A kitten learns how to poop and pee in a box at the tender age of one month, whilst a baby waits three years just to learn that one ought not to poo where one sleeps. Every time I hear some overbearing smothering mother brag about her fantastic son who can burp all of Beethoven's sonnets I have to restrain myself from reminding her that my cat could leap 1.5 meters straight up in the air when he was three months old. It mostly just ends with me screaming "WELL, my cat poops at a fifth grade level!". If your cat doesn't poop at a fifth grade level, peer pressure him/her into pooping. All the cool kids are doing it.

I'm not sure what I was aiming for with this post. All I know is that I'm probably Jesus and that I have lost a lot of blood. They might have something to do with each other.

Inga kommentarer:

Skicka en kommentar