“What you gonna do with that big fat butt? Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle….” So I’d be forgiven for thinking some hatee had moved in and is occupying my brain and trying to torture me, right? Also, no such luck, I’m still free for rent. This little gem come courtesy of iTunes and child #1. To be fair, it really is torture and it is stuck in there but it knocked that Taylor Swift bitch right out, so something to be thankful for I guess. Begrudgingly I guess because I’m sure it I had to hear “shhhhaaaakkkke it offfff ,,, ohhh ohhheheyeyeey” one more time banging around up there I was seriously about to lose my shit in the most dangerous way. Gouging my own brain out with a spoon. Though since it gave me the dumbs, I luckily couldn’t actually work out was a spoon was. Saving grace!
So after this mornings unicorn hunt, we are back to our regular scheduled programming. Thank fuck for that cause I was even starting to eyeball myself sideways at all the mindfuckery. Fun times. More eyeballs for the collection and the bird we have now called Magnus. He’s got a massive task of collecting eyeballs and Tweety just didn’t seem like a name that would live up to the reputation this bird is bound to have. Magnus on the other hand, who messes with a creature called that? Especially one with talons? Not even I would and that says something. But I’ve stared directly into his creepy soulless eyes so I might have a distinct advantage here.
So today started with a win as my feet hit the real troll phone number carpet as I got out if bed and then took a spectacular turn for the worse. I know, it’s serious stuff when something like that spins on a dime. So get ready, take the brace position and hold on, because there are going to be tears.
We all remember Ms Xanaxy Grumpy cat, who is far less grumpy than she is Xanaxy. Still a white ball if fluffy love that needs constant adoration and follows me around like a crazed Justin Bieber fan and we all know how types of messed up they are. If I wake up sleeping nose to nose again with something white ever again, it as sure as shit better not be that cat! Which reminds me, Jesus her shits do stink and it would make a great gift for the individuals in my life who earned their own dose of it…. Writing that down now, Christmas present list….
So I have this uber insanely happy cat. Most would be delighted, me I was concerned. This isn’t how things were supposed to go and things always go the way I planned. There is no exception to that rule. Till now. So thinking there must be something wrong with MXGC I decided to put in a call to a breeder friend of mine. Not MXGC breeder cause I’m certain a “WTF kind of Grumpy Cat did you sell me” isn’t a phone call that ends well for anyone. This breeder breeds cats, obviously, but not Grumpy Cats. Beside the point.
The conversation goes a little like this:
BmB: I think there is setting seriously wrong with my cat.
Breeder: OMG what? Have you taken her to the vet?
BmB: No, physically she fine. But emotionally she’s all kinda of screwed up.
Breeder: She hasn’t settled in yet?
BmB: Not the problem, she owns the place like a fucken boss.
Breeder: Ok then, what’s the problem?
I’ll save you the rest if the boring details about just how spectacularly ungrumpy she is. We’ve covered that. But the terms “kitty crack”, “lap cat” and “driving me to drink” were thrown in there. Granted it’s Friday and the last one is a given.
The response? Stunned silence…. I hear the mental wheels turning and the breeder gathering her thoughts. Fantastic, she’s going to give me the name of a cat shrink I think. Problem solved. Some anti happy pills and were good to go….
Breeder: Err, did you actually ASK for a Grumpy Cat.
Umm yeah duh, you always ask for what you want right? I sure as shit didn’t ask for a MXGC! Plus I don’t have a docket. No returnsies.
Now I’m getting worried. Said breeder friend isn’t the silent type. Or subtle either, I’m about to find out.
Breeder: You realise MXGC ISN’T a Grumpy Cat right?
Yes! I told you this already. Hence my problem and this call. Fuck I love to talk but time-wasting phone calls are not my thing.
Breeder: Grumpy Cat is a Dwarf Cat. It’s a genetic fault. It’s not something people WANT. Breeders don’t breed cats with genetic issues.
My world stopped turning. What the living fuck? I was asking breeders for a cat with a disability? This might explain why so many breeders didn’t have any “suitable” kittens for me. I’m getting the feeling that I was the “unsuitable” one. In my defense I’m obviously a very GOOD cat wanter person, I’m asking for a cat that is “special needs” (not my term, coined by the breeder, so don’t shoot the messenger here). See I don’t discriminate like all the bastards who just want a fluffy ball of unconditional love, I’m asking for the cat that YOU think is unsuitable? Me? Ideal! Surely that wins me points though, right? In the human world, I’d be Angelina Jolie (ack, I just threw up a bit in my mouth).
I then get a 10 minute lecture on how inappropriate it is to actually ask for a Grumpy Cat. In all reality it was likely going to be a 10 minute lecture, though it got stopped dead at 10 seconds because no one lectures me.
I thank breeder friend for shattering my dreams even further, Magnus is on his way and hang up. Look down at my feet at the white ball of fluff staring up lovingly at me and reach for the closest bottle of alcohol I can find. Gin, out of the bottle, nothing quite like it.
Now my shattered heart has numbed up a little and the realization my dream is dead is a little less raw. But it still hurts and not the good kind. It’s at this moment Oscar our other cat walks past, hisses at ball of fluff and takes a clawless swing. Misses, but at least he tried.
Jesus beams come pouring in. Oh my fucken god, it’s a miracle. Oscar, who is what I call Reggae Cat, on the account of him being so chilled he might as well be permanently stoned, just took a swing. Is it possible by introducing MXGC into the house I have CREATED my very own Grumpy Cat? Is this what it feels like to be god? But better and real?
The world works in mysterious ways. I have a ball of fluff that loves and adores and a cat that hates it. He’s not just Grumpy, he’s pissed! This would explain the multiple dumps he’s taken daily in Mr BmB’s office since she’s arrived. I really do have a grumpy cat all of my own, one who exacts revenge by pissing in Mr BmB’s computer and taking dumps on his office floor. He’s been right under my nose the entire time, just lacked the motivation. Well he must have found that section if the bookstore, read up and then gone to the “how to really piss my owners off” section. I feel like a proud Mummy that’s watching their child received their PHD in evil acts. Not to be confused with PHD’s in other areas that are a little nebulous, but a real life, get out in the world and get shit done, literally, PHD.
I’m now swigging the gin out of the bottle in celebration! Happy Friday to all!