Excuse me are those your entrails between my toes?

There has been an epic battle raging in my house for a few years.  The battle between the important people (us humans) and my cats.  Or my pets as I may call them.  But not for long if the idiots in this news story have anything to say about it:

I mean really.  Its an animal.  Does it even know what being called a pet is?  Does the group of sad individuals who sat around a table and thought Gerbils have rights too!  They should not be called petslets annoy the world! also sit watching the film Animal Farm (not THAT onepervsalthough!) and then start a strongly worded leaflet campaign complaining that the sheep were labeled dumb?  

Because they arent.  

Sheep are highly intelligent. 


Look at the way you never see them as the driver when you see a car accident.  Nor do you hear about a sheep that lost the will and jumped in front of a high speed train.  Or sheep who works for the big banks and you dont hear about them losing money.  Why?  Coz they are sheep.  A cat is a cat.  A dog a dog. A dirty unwashed skunk having a bad hair day is just that, a politician.

But anyway.  My pets.  Or companion animal as Nutter McStupid would have us call them (which makes sense being that sometimes as the cat goes flying across the room aided by my foot, my foot and their ass are companions for a brief moment).  There has been a battle raging and I dont know who is winning.

It started with them bringing in a variety of dead animals.  Squirrels, birds, the neighbor.  That was annoying enough.  Waking up in the morning, bleary eyed and not having shoes on yet, you stand (and squash) a dead animal between your toes.  I mean really picking the guts of a sparrow out from between your toes, well, its not quite the giggle you may at first think.  There are entrails to think of and the funny taste I get when I am biting my toenails later that night is anything but pleasant.

And they used to just find the single smelliest dead individual animal it could find.  And then hide it. You would walk in to a room and think OK that fart I let off just before I walked out this room last night which made me choke. it surely cant still be here.  Did it set up home? and then realize it is time to play hunt the dead animal. 


But then, when I started to give the cats hell because there became a dead animal a night ranging from Look I got this out of its nest for you and killed it! to This one was on its last legs. so I bit them off. Good luck finding them!. 


Every night.  For weeks.  I dont actually know how there are even anymore birds left in my neighborhood.  Infact, one of my neighbors last name is Burd.  I really hope I dont wake up one morning and he is laying on my floor.  His innards spread all over my floor. Again.  Its getting tiring. I know he reads please dude enough already.  Or at least clean up after yourself.  And no, my cat ISNT interested in you.  Stop bugging her.  No means NO.

So the cats went on the offensive.  They stopped bringing dead animals in the house in the middle of the night.  They started to bring live ones in.  And not just that, one cat would bring them in and make this calling noise to the other two of which would usually be sat on my head.  His ears would prick up, his claws would come out and he would use my face as a starting block to help him get away as fast as he could to go play with what Mommy cat just brought in.  I am then spending my night trying to save a birdmousepterodactyl from death by cat while trying not to wake up my daughter using language you normally only hear in the 30 seconds following accidently hammering one of your testicles to the floor.  Yeah, it was an accident OK?  I was sat there trying to hammer a nail in to the floor but got cramp so I sat with my legs apart and the nail lined up ready you know dont bother.  I see you judging me, I am used to it.  My girlfriend believes me.  Of course, the woman holds little green lights up to the sky.  So yeah.  Ok.

But most of the time, birdie went die die before I could save it.  So I would give it a good burial.  A crack on the head to make sure followed by a plastic bag and the trashcan until the morning and then put the bag in to a holding area.

And then the little bastards got inventive/lazy and started getting the dead animal out of the can and carried on playing with it.  So far my only plan is the next time they bring a live bird, dead bird, boat, orchestra in to the house I am going to kick their asses.  Sure, it hasnt exactly worked well so far, but at least it gives the birds in the neighborhood some comfort knowing that their death is not in vain.

Oh.  And if they dont bring me a turkey at Christmas, I am kicking them all out.

Uploaded 06/11/2011
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