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Does Anyone Else Know The Words To “The Universe Is One Great Big Fuckola Some Days”? Because, you know, we can all sing it in round then.

There is good news and bad news.

The good news is, my hair was super-shiny and manageable today.

The bad news is, the universe is a great big ole fucker. But wait, that’s not the sum total of the bad news, only just a part of it.

The horrid, oh-so-horrid thing about a really fine vacation is that you have to come back to your ‘real‘ life at the end of it all. And you people (most of you’ns, anyway) know that my life is packed-to-the-seams and just a wee titch hectic.

I’ll give you one guess as to what percentage of the people that comprised my caseload today had a full set of teeth. Okay, you won’t have to guess; I’ll just tell you that I had reign of five people that were completely toothless today.

There I go, exaggerating again. One person, age six, actually had two of her teeth. They were the eye teeth, so she looked for all the world like a little geriatric vampire. I tried very hard to keep her from smiling at all costs, which runs directly contrary to the usual party line that I run on the four-feet-and-under set. So you can see that my day was stressful from a work standpoint.

To top it all off, one of the guys I toted hither and yon had B.O. in a big, bad (meaning, even if he had no bite, his aroma certainly did) way. After I finished my (court referral! drug testing! substance counseling! listening to him call his ex wife every name under the sun FOUR TIMES!) dealings with him, I drove a block away to the nearest gas station, popped the trunk, went fishing around in it for a bottle of Febreeze, which was sadly and alarmingly devoid of any product whatsoever.

I’d like to confess something to you people here. Those moments when someone is threatening my life or up in my face swearing at me to beat the band or doing something so unconscionable/ugly that I should just whip out my tire iron, flatten them and be done with it? Those moments are not the ones where I Wind Up And Pitch A Big Onetm. Nope, not atall. Those moments are the ones where I am calm and focused and –dare I say?– potentially deadly. It is then that I am fully zen and look upon any matters at hand with the ULSOD*. It’s the moments where I find a nail in my tire or when a light bulb burns out or I’m in a stinky sitchooayshee and lacking Febreeze that I flip WAY. THEFUCK. OUT. Somewhat irrational, I know, but I’ve not been jailed for homicide thus far, so something’s ticking along quite nicely indeedy.

So you must absolutely know that I scream-wailed in anguish and let fly the empty spray bottle toward the large-and-blessedly-empty parking lot. I vaguely remember kicking the curb a couple of times, as well. Tommy, the owner of the fine establishment, got up off the bench where he was shooting the shit with the elderly hang-abouts and sauntered toward me. He knows I am not right, as he is the father of TeenGirl GasPumper and has been selling me gas, cigarettes and Mountain Dews for nigh on six years now.

“I’ve found,” he drawled at me, “that the curb takes you a little more seriously if ya bend over and bang your head ownnit.”

Perspective regained.

I made my merry way home, the shadow of a headache seeping into my temples (fucking HOLE in the fucking OZONE or sommat) and creeping around to settle behind my eyes before undressing itself to stay for the night. As I turn in the drive, I notice the cats in the drive, the kitties frolicking on the porch.

Now yes, I am not a “cat person” per se, but my children are and some six months ago I allowed Sam and Scout to bring two kittens home from their grandma’s on the condition that they be outside critters and not be allowed betwixt the hallowed walls of No Catsville that is my home. I don’t think that my aversions to certain things should bar my children from enjoying them.

Well, Mathias has quite the fondness for the felines as well, so when grams called up a couple of weeks later to say that the remaining kitty missed, missed, missed its brother and sister oh-so-badly I begrudgingly allowed the third cat to seek the solace of our porch with the first two; it was masquerading, of course, under the guise of ‘Mathias’ Very Own Kitty’. Well, cat o’ Sam decided to become somewhat of a cavalier vagabond, leaving a big ole empty space in Sam’s pet-loving heart; imagine his delight when some three months later Cat Three (a.k.a. cat ‘o Mathias) became impregnated with Cat Two’s (a.k.a. cat ‘o Scouty) evil feline spawn. I assured Sam that he could indeed keep one of the five-piece, all-tom litter that was produced from this merry feline tumble.

Oh, mother nature, you fucking whorebitch of a trickstress.

So here were we (when I say ‘we’, I mean Maxim and me, who are persons of the Non Kitty-Loving Persuasion), hip deep in seven (magic number! MAGIC NUMMMBERRRR!) cats and feeling a certain sense of quiet despair that we shielded from our children. That is, after all, what good and kind and loving parents do to help ensure that their children do not grow up to shame the fambly by becoming serial killers and whatnot. You know.

I’se pulling into the drive, the two cats lazing around in it, kitties frolicking on the porch and whatnot, and I’m all, “Hey, Mommakitty, move your ass, will you?” because she was taking her own God-blessed time about getting the hell outta the way. Scout, who was meeting me on the porch, then announces to me as I swung my legs out of the car, “You hit it.”

“What, the mommacat? I swear she got out of the way!” and I began swinging my eyeballs this way and that to locate her.

“No, momma, the kitten.” Awww, fuck! Fuckitty fuck-fuck. Fuuuuck! I didn’t see any kitten in the drive! Stupid mothercat! What kind of mother lets her kids play in a high-traffic area??

“Which?”

There are two blacks, one grey tabby, one smoky grey (with amazing blue eyes which Sam has elected to replace the Great Vagabond Tom with) and one really cool-looking white tabby. It is, coincidentally, the only kitty that the kids have dubbed with a name because it was so ‘out there’ and ‘risk-taking’. It is, coincidentally, the only kitty I’m mildly enamored of, and that is because of the way that it repeatedly flops itself off of the porch to go exploring and then claws like hell to get back up there to nuzzle with its brothers. The kids have taken to calling it

“Famous.

“You ran over Famous. Ewww! He’s twitching! Momma!” and she had a sick look on her face, turning away, but turning compulsively back again.

And sure enough, when I reached my bumper, lying some five feet behind it there in the drive was the wee white tabby body, head turned at an awful angle, top of it kissing the driveway’s surface while the body rested on its side. Even from the strange angle (that, by the way, I was most assuredly grateful for) I could see that the kitten’s eyes had burst from its head and he was thankfully quickly expired.

I got the cat triple-bagged and Sam was kind enough to appear with soulful brown eyes and earnest goodness and shovel: “I’ll bury it for you, momma,” and I was very, very thankful.

Now the pile of cats of the porch is monochromatic and the remaining brothers are all the docile ones, not a risk-taker among them.

There are only precious few creatures, after all, with the stones it takes to become Famous.

*Ultra-Large Stare O’ Death

11 worked it out »

  1. laura 7.3.2004

    Awww, It was the only cat that you even kinda liked…that’s very sad. I hope the kids aren’t too upset about Famous.

     
  2. ntexas99 7.3.2004

    there isn’t much to say except to agree that the universe can really be cruel and senseless sometimes. It bothered me that even though I hated to have to read about the demise of little Famous, that I couldn’t help but appreciate your telling of the tale. Does that make me a total asshole for having an appreciation for the storyteller, even though I didn’t care for the happy ending?

    The especially sucky part was that Famous had latched on to your heart a bit. Well, that and the empty bottle of Febreeze. That was pretty awful too. Some days I wish I could just Febreeze EVERY FUCKING THING in life and make the stench go away. They don’t make super-size bottles of the stuff, though.

     
  3. Bakelite Lung 7.3.2004

    You’re pretty damn lucky I didn’t give up on checking your blog’s URL from time to time. Jeebus, it took you like a week less than FOREVER to get back here.

    And I’m glad you did, canya tell?

     
  4. hans across america 7.3.2004

    Geez. just geez.

    Condolences on your day and kitty.

    Quick, painless and went causing trouble….we should be so fortunate.

    Remember, every kitty dies, not every kitty really lives.

     
  5. Mac 7.3.2004

    I just had a brain fart and realized that if you write as slow and methodical as you talk, that it musta taken’ ya’ a whole hour to tell us about your fuckin ‘kitty;)

     
  6. My cat killed a guinea pig today. I was leaning over a basin scrubbing my top – stained with tomato sauce (‘ketchup’ in your “fucked up” universe) – as he brought the damned thing in as if he was rewarding me by putting our neighbours’ pride and joy down on the tiles.

    This marks the first time I’ve come back here Jett. Nice to be home. I like.

     
  7. okay

    a) what the shit. seven cats

    b) don’t you feel so naughty logo-izing the anarchist A? if not naughty, ironic at least

    c) your sifty unterminated quotes are so technically correct and cheeky

     
  8. John 7.4.2004

    I have a good news/bad news joke for you.

    I offer no guarantee of its effectiveness considering my own humor quotient barely qualifies me as anything remotely resembling authority let alone competence in the art of joke telling.

    Here goes.

    Person #1: Well I have good news and bad news.

    Person #2: OK. What’s the good news?

    Person #1: The good news is that there isn’t any bad news.

    Person #2: Um, then what’s the bad news?

    Person #1: The bad news is that that is all the good news I have.

    (cue groans/silence or crickets chirping/rolling eyes/sudden barrage of fruit)

     
  9. Bob 7.13.2004

    To quote Randy Quaid as Eddie from “Christmas Vacation”…”If that cat had nine lives, he just spent ‘em all…”

    I Thank You

     
  10. Mish 7.13.2004

    Sorry about the kitty – that would have killed me as i am an animal person. Your children seem very strong – must be b/c they have a strong mama! Glad that you are back too.

     
  11. Jettomatika 7.13.2004

    Mac: You’re right. Brevity is much more entertaining. The entry should have read,

    “I squished a kitty today. He is no longer Famous.”

    To everyone else, I offer a big ‘people power’ salute and a hearty “RIGHT THE FUCK ON!”

     

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