1. I am not allowed to go to the bathroom. Whenever I try, the roll of paper is immediately knocked off its perch and rolled away. The idea, I’m sure, is to make my bladder burst while I try to chase her and the toilet paper down with my panties around my ankles. Why don’t I actually put it on roll? Because that means the terrorist wins.
2. I’m not allowed to wash my hands. Ever. When I do finally chase down the toilet paper and make yet another attempt, she diverts to a new tactic: death by disease. Instead of letting me actually wash my hands, she takes a dive into the sink. She’s totally down with getting herself completely wet if it means I might die of the plague.
3. I’m not allowed to brush my teeth, either. If I remove her from the sink, she bats the toothbrush out of my hand. Which then lands behind the sink. Which means it has god knows what on it. So it gets liberally doused in alcohol and cleaning solution, am still completely grossed out and can’t brush my teeth at all. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to die from poisoning or for conjunctivitis.
4. I’m not allowed to sleep. My feet are moving targets under the covers that must be pounced on and bitten when I turn over at night. You would think the easy solution would be to keep her out of the room, but then scratching and howling at the door guarantees I won’t be sleeping anyways. Eventually the sleep deprivation will shut my brain down, probably when I’m driving on the highway.
5. I’m not allowed to watch tv. Oh, how is that deadly, you ask. Well, when you have stinky hands and some major bad breath and huge bags under your eyes, you think you might chill out and watch tv until you nap. That is, unless you have cat ass in your face. What is it about cats that they feel the need to shove their butt up close like a reverse kiss? That, along with the fact that their paws are on your bladder makes it impossible to forget that you haven’t peed yet.
6. I can’t eat. Forget eating on the couch with cat ass lurking nearby. Even eating at the table is out of bounds when your cat climbs up on the adjacent chair ninja style and takes constant swipes at your plate. When you stand up to eat, your ankles get swatted. If death by hunger doesn’t work, I think plan B is death by indigestion.
7. I can’t get laid. Have you ever had sex with a cat staring at you in complete contempt? If you have, you are one sick fuck. Get some therapy.
8. I’m not allowed to work. My computer is one big shiny cat toy. If I’m typing, extra paws pound the keyboard. If I’m trying to research, a paw on the trackpad makes sure i can’t scroll. (I don’t know how she figured that out, but I’m betting she sold her fluffy soul for that tidbit). She also chews on the power cord on a regular basis. One way or the other I’m not supposed to get a paycheck, which would lead to lack of food and shelter. The evil little shit doesn’t seem to realize I’m keeping her in the kibble.
9. I’m not allowed to breathe. I’m allergic to cats, a fact I only learned after 11 years of cat ownership. My cat got wind of this and has decided to sleep right on my pillow whenever possible. Keep the door closed, you say? I try. The satanspawn can open doors. What’s almost worse, I find her sleeping in my underwear drawer so I find cat hair in my panties. Nice. Who else has to watch out for extra hair near their hoo-haa?
I’m also pretty sure that the occasional hairball I find on the tile floor is meant to trip me up so I fall and get a nice concussion, but then both my cats hark up those lovely treats when I forget to brush them, so I dunno. But kitteh is really bad about being brushed–she hisses and bites at the brush, so maybe it’s part of her evil plan after all…