Nothing that matters at all

What in the actual fuck could I write today that matters? Not a damn thing, that’s what. I’m going to do it anyway.

Cats. I guess I’ll talk about cats.

I have two of them fuckers. Neither one is actually mine, but here we all are. The one that pukes on the daily and the car ride crate pisser. A few months ago, one of my Facebook friends posted a picture of her 24-year-old cat. This made my jaw drop as I did some quick math on the potential that I will be walking around with this fucking cat hair on my clothes until the year 2039.

Pukes on the daily is a real bitch and she doesn’t try to hide it. Car ride crate pisser appears to be completely emotionless and is obsessed with hunting. I once found the bloody partial remains of a bird in my bathroom that she had decapitated and a dead bat in the front yard that I’m pretty sure she killed. Pukes on the daily can’t be bothered with hunting because she’s too busy demanding to be scratched just the way she likes it and clawing the shit out of you if you stop scratching her, or if you do it wrong, or if you do it too long, or if you look at her sideways. She is also very busy napping all day. No surprise, these two don’t like each other, at all, but here we all are.

Cats. Here’s to 2039.

* Post #43 of 104

* This is part of a one-year writing project. I write something and post it on Mondays and Thursdays, except for that week I skipped in February. Some of it will suck. I'm doing it anyway.