I hate cats.
My fiancee has one, she calls it "Belle"...
I know it's real name, Satan.
Satan and I got along at first (It's always like that when evil comes into your life). Now, we absolutely hate each other. Both praying for the other to die, (but atleast I am not wanting the little bastages soul).
It started out innocently really. Late one night several months ago, I was walking to the witchen to get a bottle of water in a half drunk stupor, and Satan happened to be in my way on the return trip. Hence Satan received not only my foot on some part of it's anatomy, but it also received the water bottle in another part and a subsequent impromptu bath when the bottle spilled on it's way down.
That was where things turned very sour. Since that day, there has been the porch incident, the shower incident, the trash bag incident, the unintended ski trip, the vaccuum cleaner incident, the steak incident, the flash light incident, the bed incident, and countless other "occurences" that really do not fit into the level of an "incident".
Anyways, I know my days are numbered, Satan secretly plots my demise while I am at work, and it really is starting to bother me when I come home to find the yellow pages open to the industrial chemicals section with a phone lying next to it covered in cat hair. I hold at hope, that one day the bastage will die in it's sleep. (Maybe a couple of aspirins will help it sleep?) Either way, I live in fear of the bastage, and it's constant evil stair.
Ever heard of Resident Evil? Well, it lives with me in Colorado Springs!
