You've been with me for two years and I still have no fucking clue what is going on with you. Sure, you're cute and adorable and fun to pet, but what the fuck is going on inside that little cat noggin of yours?
I know you aren't the scary badass I feared. You don't know this but I was afraid to bring you down to the country for fear you'd fuck up Monkey's kitten or the Bat's parents' cat. You look mean and I don't feel like I know you well so I was scared of you. Well, just look at you when you strike one of your dignified, Vladimir Putin poses.
Pretty regal and serious looking, right? But after seeing you punch Monkey's kitten, who then just jumped right back up to play more, and seeing what you looked like after the Bat's parents' cat handed you your ass, I realized I was being unfair. You are a big ball of sweetheart who just doesn't want other animals bothering her. Sorry about that, babes. I shouldn't have judged you so harshly.
But what the fuck is with this neediness and diva behavior? I can't shut the door if I go to the bathroom without anyone else in the apartment without you putting your paw under the door and meowing. You lay outside the bathroom and stare at me if I take a bath. If I sit at my computer, you frequently come up to paw at me to pet you. Bitch, you even take my chair if I get up now and today? Today you jumped on my desk and onto my damned laptop.
I give you attention! I pet you and talk to you and will purposely lay on my love seat when I read so I can pet you some more. I pat my bed for you to come up when I go to sleep. I fucking ordered 25 cans of Fish and Shrimp Fancy Feast from Amazon because you like it. Or you did. What's this shit with you not eating it all of a sudden? It is the only thing you would eat once I switched your fat ass to can food and now you turn your nose up to it? Well, looks like you are in for a lean couple of weeks because I'm not going to the store to get you cans of the same goddamn thing just because it doesn't smell like it came in the mail or whatever.
You wouldn't even eat tuna fish!
I don't speak cat, OK? I don't know what is going on. A friend at work says that you just love me and want my attention and that you may still be stressed out from your fight/attack. I'll get you one of those pheromone things on Friday when I get paid again and I'll keep petting you. But you need to meet me half way here. Either eat your fucking food as a compromise, or learn to speak human or manipulate a writing utensil and tell me exactly what you want. The more anxious I get about you the more I begin to wonder if I should give you up because I clearly cannot care for you very well. I hate your bald spots from that fucking asshole cat. I'm not taking you to the farm ever again. I'm not going to Rowlett very often any more just so I can stay home and be with you. I'm doing my best and you just refuse to work with me.
I'm going to have to take you to the vet, you know, to find out what the hell is going on and to make sure you are OK. This neediness and all up in my business ALL the time shit needs to stop. I love you, but you are driving me up the fucking wall.
You don't even care, do you?
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