I hate cats. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is the fact that they don’t need us or they can use the litter box better than I can. However, I believe it is the fact that they have nine lives and I only have one? Why? Doesn’t God like us more than cats?
Imagine if you hate cats and believe in reincarnation. Man that would suck.
You’ll know if I get reincarnated as a cat. Just look for a cat throwing himself in front of cars and off buildings, that’ll be me. Suicide cat, I’ll probably live forever on Youtube.
Anyways I’m a dog guy. In fact I just got back from an AA meeting with my dog. No not for me, for my dog. He didn’t start of as my dog; I kind of inherited him. My uncle died, and the family wanted to put his German Sheppard, Jake, to sleep. Granted he was an older dog, but it wasn’t like the dog was anymore depressed than my aunt, and they weren’t talking about putting her to sleep. He was a working dog, lived on a farm, and worked harder than I ever did. Anyways, I decided take him home; at the time I was living is South Carolina.
Shortly after we returned home I start to notice beer cans in my yard. At first I thought it was no big deal. After all it was South Carolina and there are more beer cans than grass covering the majority yards in that state. Something to do with the sand I’d bet. Then I began to notice beer going missing in the house. One day I noticed that the dog off balance and kind of staggering around the yard, bumping into trees and knocking my trash cans over. Concerned, I take the dog to the vet and Dr. Wood advises me that Jake’s blood alcohol level was .38.
I’m thinking, “Jackpot! Drinking buddy!” It was fun at first, as I had no one to drink with at the time. So Jake and I would sit on the porch having a beer or two. I’d pour a Blue Moon in his dish, with an orange slice, of course, at night. Jake liked the higher quality beers, and for the record is not a big fan of hoppy beers, but will drink them in a pinch.
Now for some reason my wife, now ex-wife, wasn’t happy. Granted, it can be embarrassing when your husband is sleeping on the front porch in his boxers cuddling with 80 lbs of German Sheppard.
Then one night the dog jumps up on the bed, and he is laying there chewing something. My wife is like get that freaking horse out of the bed, now. She sits up to shoo the dog off the bed then . . .phst psssssss! The dog bit through the beer can and was giving my wife an amber shower. Not good.
So we couldn’t drink in the house anymore, well the dog couldn’t, well we couldn’t. We started taking walks and drives to local bars. The first couple wouldn’t let Jake in so; I put on some dark glasses and acted like I was blind. We got busted at one place cause we were so hammered the dog put the glasses on and we staggered to the bathroom with me as his Seeing Eye man.
Of course bars we hung at had the floor urinals, and believe me, we messed some people up. Imagine walking in, seeing Jake and I standing side by side at the urinal. Me-leaning hands on wall. Jake leaning one leg cocked. Eventually he had to seek help after his first DUI. He almost passed the tests, but the nose touch killed him. Hey don’t blame me, I was too drunk to drive and Jake said he could get us home.
Animal control threw the book at him, so now we go to weekly meetings and I have to listen to other addicted pets get up and tell their stories pain and woe. There’s a hamster, a parrot, a couple of other dogs, they’re cool, and a Siamese cat. It’s the cat’s eighth time in the program. He has survived falling in a lake, a pool, falling out of a tree blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Last week Jake and I “accidentally” ran over this cat as he was staggering across the street. Guess what? That fricking cat was at the next meeting. They get nine deaths, ten lives.
I hate cats!