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Cats and Dogs

witchypoo — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 00:17:19 +0000

One of my readers requested that I update my blog, and just in case I was out of ideas, she suggested that I explain what I had against cats.

Oh, the cat lovers will so hate on me now.

Have you cat lovers ever noticed that cats are not obedient? Am I the only one who has a problem with that? If I am feeding you and looking after you, couldn’t you at least deign to abide by some basic house rules? Apparently not, if you’re a cat.

One of my basic house rules? You do not jump up on my counters or table if you have litterbox feet. Do I need to elaborate on that? Do we need to discuss the vile smell of cat excrement? It’s so overwhelmingly unsanitary to have litterbox feet walking around on the surfaces where food is prepared. When you’re done grossing me out kitty, why not show me how much you love me by shredding my furniture with your claws? Because, clearly, you do not want me to have nice things. Or how about jumping up to my eye level, lifting your tail up straight, and presenting your lovely cat arsehole three inches from my nose? Does anyone really find this appealing? Because the whole cat arsehole thing? The fun totally eludes me.

When you come home from work, does your cat act all goofy happy to see you ? No? Do you, instead, get yelled at because they’re all “Where’s my food, bitch” ? Because cats will do that. They are used to having servants.

You might think your cat is being affectionate when it rubs itself against you. You might, but you would be ~~deluded~~ so very wrong. What your cat is doing is depositing saliva to mark you as its very own personal servant. Just so the other cats will know that it has dibs on the giver of food.

Look, I know that dogs roll in dead things and will eat turds, but they also will submit to a bath, if you understand dogs at all. They are always wicked happy to see you. They want to please you, and can be trained. And when a dog fucks up? It has the decency to at least look ashamed.

You just ask Bill Clinton about the pluses of having a dog. During all that Monica business, when he came home at the end of the day, the only member of the family who was happy to see him was the dog. Even if your wife and kid think you’re an arsehole, your dog is all “OMG! I missed you SO much! I’m so glad you’re home!”

And for that? I can endure the slurpy sound of a dog licking its own balls.

Cats? Not so much. Besides, I’m allergic.

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Cats and Dogs

Oink

witchypoo — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 13:34:16 +0000

Ever since all of this swine flu bidness, I’ve been staying much closer to home, and washing hands and surfaces that others have touched.

I have no sick days. If I’m too sick to work, why, I just don’t work. (Or get paid) As if that isn’t bad enough, the week following an absence is sparse, because people find other favourites if their first choice isn’t available on their regular schedule.

Last week, I had problems with my telephone line after a nor’easter, which around here, means a big, cold windy storm. I lost a week’s pay. Not the best time of year for it, either. Now I’m working to wow new callers so they will be loyal to me. (To replace the clients that were wowed by other psychics when I wasn’t available) I still have the persistent cough from over six weeks ago.

So, all you people who are making fun of my germophobia?

Bite me.

From afar. I don’t want your germs, thankyouverymuch.

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Oink

Explaining the Family Tree to Hidden Treasure

witchypoo — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 08:45:57 +0000

I have a strange family tree, which would explain the strange fruit (me) that it bears.

One oddity is my sister in law twice removed.

Above? First husband and his sister. He was missing his girlfriend, she’s just an all-round pill.

Her brother was my first husband. We divorced.

Once removed.

My brother, Mr. Trick, was her second husband. They divorced.

Twice removed.

That’s how I like her best.

Twice removed.

I prefer the first husband to her.

And that’s my bitchy story for today.

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Explaining the Family Tree to Hidden Treasure

Grace The Forth

witchypoo — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 00:06:17 +0000

The past few days, I’ve been practically addicted to Facebook. I can’t wait to see what is coming down the pike next on the live feed. Strangely enough, I only just discovered the live feed because I had largely ignored Facebook for the most part. Just busy working, but relying mostly on Twitter to get family updates, like which of the old folks was joyriding to the hospital in the ambulance. Thanks, liddle sis, for your updates, by the way.
That all changed with a call from my brother, Dizzee. Strangely enough, I had just logged onto Facebook and saw he had reactivated his account, and made a proclamation that his status was clearly married. I almost made a comment on that to the effect that his kids would be so pleased that he could no longer call them little bastards, because I’m all insanely witty and fabulous like that.
Before I could make that comment, he called and there was something so momentous in his energy he could barely speak.
He told me that he had been contacted by a daughter he had fathered some thirty-odd years ago, and I was all, I sure hope your wife knew about this because it might be a surprise she wouldn’t take to. And he croaked “yeah” and I was all good boy, because while he was practically speechless, I’m all about the speechiness, even if I do talk to strangers on the phone all day. In fact, my throat is sore, and I still can’t shut up.
So we’re all excited because hey, he has a daughter, and his kids have another sister, and I have another niece, and I’m searching her profile and holy shit, she looks so much like me, I’m frigging mesmerized. I’m thinking if my brother isn’t really her father, then I must be her mother, and wouldn’t I have remembered that? Of course I would, I’m just all excited and jabbery and run on sentence-y, and can’t even write in my own voice.
So in between shifts, I’m chatting with her, and telling her that there should be some stories and old pictures and things on my blog because I can’t label and organize my images well enough to email them to her.
I ask her what she wants her blog name to be because I usually offer people I write about that choice. After asking if I can write about them, of course, because who needs their family all grumbly because of a blog?
She leaves it up to me to come up with her blog name, and I ran a few through my tiny little brain like Surprise and The Daughter I Never Had and all I could come up with is Mini Me. I have a feeling she is tall, so maybe not so mini, but I don’t know much about her yet, except of course she is gorgeous. Smirk.
I’m open for suggestions.
All of this blathering is leading up to what I am grateful for and wanted to share. My niece has found her family, and her family has found her.
Thank you, universe. Oh, and thanks to Facebook, too.
UPDATE: I have consulted with my niece and we have agreed her blog name should be Hidden Treasure.

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Grace The Forth

Thirteenth Day of Christmas

witchypoo — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 17:04:16 +0000

Not the Twelfth.

Which is when I traditionally take down my fake tree.

It’s been bothering me.

Like how can I possibly create a blog post while that tree is staring

at me in accusation?

Day late, it’s done now.

Rejoice.

I’m still alive. Hopefully, will get back to posting.

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Thirteenth Day of Christmas