Okay. I’m joking. Obviously. It upsets me–yes, now I’m the one upset–that I even have to write that I’m joking about this. My friends and family get this, I’m sure. And people with a sense of humor. But there are some people out there who can somehow decipher these long lists of words we call sentences yet can’t, for the life of them, detect the overall context of a paragraph. One of those idiots might stumble across this post. Of course, it doesn’t help my case that those sorts of idiots are the most easily offended and now I’ve not only set them off by asking for a cat-poisoner, but I’ve insulted them as well.
See what the cats have driven me to!
Look, like I said, I’m joking. I don’t have a problem with cats. I’m a big fan of cats. Used to feed my mom’s cat ice cream off the spoon I was using. And who knows where that cat’s tongue had been. Actually, we all have a pretty good idea: shoved in a dead mouse, aiding in the murder of a bird, nosing around in another cat’s ass. But, hey, that cat–his name was Tiger–that cat and me had a bond. I like cats. And don’t even get me started on kittens. Or LOLcats. Cats are great. They’re furry, graceful, mischievous, stand-offish, bitchy, nice to touch–kind of like a woman who’s forgotten to shave, and one who thinks a great date is a can of tuna fish and half a spoonful of ice cream. (And I swear if you tell me cats aren’t supposed to eat ice cream I will come to your house and slap you. Cats eat dead animals; a little ice cream isn’t going to kill them.)
But, yeah, I’m on board with cats. I’m fine with cats.
What I’m not fine with is cat rape, which seems to be an issue in the back lots of Brooklyn this winter season. Feral cats are just prowling around behind my apartment and raping each other like crazy.
I’ll admit, I don’t know much about the sexual habits of cats. Maybe they aren’t raping each other. And even if they are, do I really care about the actual fact of potential cat rape?
Honestly–and this may make me sound like a bad person–I do not care about the actual fact–or non-fact–of cat rape.
I care about the sound. Have you heard the sound that cats make when doves cry? I haven’t either. But I have heard the sound they make when they’re fucking. Or fighting. Or raping. Or whatever the hell it is they choose to do outside my window at three in the morning.
You’ll get a long, drawn-out: MWWWWWOOoooooooOOOWOOWWWWWWWOOOOWOOWWWWWWEERRRRRRRR!
Then a sharp: mreeEEEEER!
Then what sounds like some scratching and hair pulling and then two bodies falling off of a table or a roof or god knows what. Now, on paper, all this screaming and scratching and hair pulling probably sounds like a good time to some you people–a night of wild monkey sex.
But this is not wild monkey sex. It is feral-cat sex and it sounds like the wails of the damned. The only thing missing is the gnashing of teeth and rending of garments.
I’ve got to imagine feral-cat sex, like feral-cat life, is short and brutal. And, to be honest, if it were just me, I’d likely wake up at the sound then fall back to sleep. I can do that. Unless I’m stressed out about something else. And, hey, who would be stressed when you’re approaching 40, thinking about mortality and Christmas is around the corner? Well, not me. That’s for sure.
But you know who else the cat rape wakes up? The dogs, that’s who! And boy do they not like it! Or, hell, maybe they do like it. We don’t have bark-to-English translators on their collars.
Maybe they’re saying: “YOU FILTHY FUCKING CATS, WAKING US AND OUR PEOPLE. WE EVER GET OUT OF HERE WE’LL KILL YOU! DEAD! KAPUT! MURDERLIZE YOU! RIP YA LIMB FROM LIMB! SWALLOW YOU DOWN AND SHIT YOU OUT AND THEN EAT THE SHIT AND THEN START IT ALL OVER AGAIN! CUZ WE’RE DOGS AND THAT’S HOW HARDCORE WE ARE. ONE DAY WE’LL GET OUT! ONE DAY! YOU JUST WAIT!”
Or maybe they’re saying: “Ohhhhhhh, snap! Somebody’s getting lucky tonight. You go boy! Dannnnnnggggg. He’s knocking it out!”
But they’re both girl dogs, so I really doubt it on the second one. For all I know, they could be barking at ME to call the cops: “Dadddd. He’s killing her. Make it stop. Doooo something.”
At any rate, cats having sex wake the dogs up. The dogs, whatever they feel about this horrid noise going on in the backyard, are very, very vocal about it. Which, in turn, wakes up Cara, who’s then hissing at the dogs to shut up and threatening to deport them or some other nonsense that she doesn’t mean and would never enforce because she spoils these dogs. I swear, sometimes it’s like a Park Slope parent trying to reason with a child who’s having a hissy fit and punching another child. “Now look, Tanner, this is not how people behave. Could you stop pulling her hair? It’s obviously hurting her.” Except in this case it’s a woman talking to a dog who won’t stop barking or who’s pooped on the floor again.
Of course, I spoil the dogs, too. Maybe even more (which will be the subject of a separate 10,000 word post because I have become one of those people who has to talk about his fucking animals. All. The. Time). But I don’t try to reason with them. I mean they’re cute and all, but they’re dogs! And even if they were capable of rational thought, they’d know damn well neither of us would ever in a million years follow through on a threat. I mean, smacking a kid is one thing. He can grow up one day and get back at you. But a defenseless animal? That’s not cool.
Besides, for all Cara’s hissing and threatening, the dogs are probably thinking: “Yaaaaaayyy! Mom’s up and talking to us. She’s trying to grab us. She wants to play! And I totally think she’s psyched we warned her about the cat rape. Did she just say treat? I think she said treat. Or did she say walk? Whatever, she’s awake. Yaaaaayyyyy!”
And all of this is making it very hard to sleep. That’s all I’m trying to say.
Of course, I guess now I have to look forward to some well-meaning but humorless scold writing a comment about the ASPCA and spaying and neutering and the general plight of feral-cat populations. Sigh. Look people, it’s the Holiday season. Do us and yourselves a favor, get away from the internet and go hang out in PetSmart or something.