The world is only broken into two tribes: the people who are assholes and the people who are not.
– Sherman Alexie
The world of cats has but one tribe.
– Darla Smallwood
Let’s face it. Cats are all assholes. Every single one of them. And yet I adore every single one of them. Which is baffling, since I have so little tolerance for all the assholes of the human ilk that I encounter every day. Take, for example, even a simple trip to the grocery store. Oh, sure, I can try to keep my head down and avoid any and all assholery. But no. Everywhere I look, WHOOMP, there it is. Honestly, if it weren’t for their giving me an excuse to use a lot of cool synonyms for asshole, I’d write all the following folks off as a waste of food and oxygen.
The dipstick without a handicapped plate OR tag, who nevertheless parks in a handicapped space, and the asshat who leaves her convertible in the fire lane — Lock them up. (Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Barbie’s Bimmer until she gets out. Because I’m not an asshole.)
The jerk in the 10-item express line with 11 items in his cart — String him up.
The churl who throws her cigarette butt on the ground out front — Rub her out. I’m usually against the death penalty, but we’ve got to draw the line somewhere if we’re going to make America great again, am I right?
The cretin who nearly runs me down in the crosswalk with his big old jacked-up environment-destroying Ford-F150 with a Rebel flag in the back — Can somebody please set up a GoFundMe to get him a penis pump already?
I’m just trying to stock up on a few simple staples, and I’m damned lucky if I even make it back to my car alive with my Corona Light bottles and limes intact.
And don’t even get me started on a certain so-called world leader who many people are saying is the kind of asshole that makes other assholes (though apparently not enough of them) say, “Wow, he’s a real asshole.” (Before you get mad at me, remember three things: 1. I didn’t say it. I just said that I’ve heard many people say it. That’s very, very different. 2. I mean it in a Christian way. 3. If said person is an asshole, it’s because Hillary. Or Obama. Probably both.)
But then I come home to my cats, each of whom could be single-pawed-ly responsible for the coining of the phrase, “This is why we can’t have nice things.” Two are asleep on the sofa that I just vacuumed before heading out to the store. Santos, the Maine Coon, has drooled on the cushions. Meanwhile, Pavel is lying in a veritable nest of his own hair. (He’s recently developed the weird habit of ripping fur out of his back, or as the vet puts it, “He suffers from what appears to be a psychogenic disorder likely caused by some unknown anxiety, but who can say for sure? Cats are a mystery. That will be $150.”)
Being an asshole cat, Pavel won’t tell us what’s ticked him off, though we suspect it’s our refusal to let him partcipate in his latest hobby: dipping his paw into our cocktails when he thinks we’re not looking. Whatever the case, the result is that the furniture and carpet de-furring process is now necessary 956 times a day, rather than the usual 732.
Our other cat, Sasha, sits on the tabletop munching the leaves on my new money tree. You know, the one I just bought to replace the bamboo plant that I had to move outside because she threatened to consume even the pot that holds it.
Basically, our three cats are continuously training for a deCAThlon, and apparently these are the events in their Asshole Olympic Games:
DASHES/RUNS: Forget 100/400/1500 metres. There’s no specific distance required because cats do this, like everything else, only for as long as they feel like doing it; the only requirement is that this event take place between the hours of 2 and 5 a.m. and be accompanied by profuse and LOUD meowing.
HIGH JUMP: Typically from floor to kitchen counter to top of refrigerator; extra points for each item knocked over and or broken en route to the top.
LONG JUMP: The objective is to pounce from afar upon a juicy lizard that can subsequently be dismembered and strewn about the house in grotesque pieces — SEE NEXT EVENT.
DISGUST: The objective is to outdo your opponents with the grossness of your actions. (The Gold Medalist at our house won by leaving cat food crumbs on my husband’s pillow. Fully processed cat food crumbs, that is.
HURLING: Of hairballs or food. Extra points for combining the two AND for yakking it up in a location that won’t be discovered until it’s stepped or sat upon by cat-hating guests.
SHITPUT: I only wish this were a typo. The event involves doodyballs, not a metal ones, with the goal being to put them outside, but within one foot of, the litter box. It’s a “power” event, but the power comes in showing your people, “Hey, sure, I could have gone in the box, but I’m a free spirit (aka asshole).”
EVENTS 9 & 10
POLE VAULT AND JAVELIN: Actually, the cats don’t train for these two events because they don’t fucking WANT to.
And yet, this is me every time I encounter any cat, any place, any time:
“Come here, babykittencatsweetiecutiepatootiepumpkinpotpie!”
Cats may be assholes. But they’re my kind of assholes.
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