Why I Am Done With Cats Today

I am done with cats today, because:
they pretend their food is disgusting,
and then they hop around like fleas when you refill the bowl with the same food;
they eat Christmas ribbon,
and then they bleed out their asses and sit on your new pants;
they ball up your new shirt after you have ironed it,
and then they curl up with it like it is their new favourite pookie;
they steal the only excellent pair of tweezers you have ever found,
and then they leave them in a shoe so you can stab your foot with them;
they sneak onto the top shelf in the closet,
and then they growl at you while they eat your favourite gloves;
they see your butt as a stepping stone to their next kill,
and then they leave three bloody welts across your hip;
they sneak cigarettes out of your purse,
and then they roll in them until they are covered in tobacco;
they talk to doors at top volume late at night,
and then they act like you are a freak for removing them from the hallway;
they hide their toy mice in your purse,
and then they scratch the crap out of its insides while they kill them;
they throw up on the floor,
and then they cover it with your underwear so that you have to locate it by smell;
they tear the plastic cover off your wedding dress,
and then they fashion a makeshift litter box out of it in the back of your closet;
they snub meat,
and then they run off with chunks of squash from your supper;
they rub against you and purr and give you those squinty love eyes,
and then they sink their teeth into your elbow;
you receive Get Well bouquets from friends and family,
and then they eat all the flowers while you sleep;
they learn how to undo zippers so they can steal your yarn,
and then they wrap it around every single piece of furniture in your apartment;
you open a beer,
and they lick out the inside of the bottle's neck while you are changing tv channels.
Today, I am done with cats.

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