4:00 am: Cat begins meowing in my face. I assume this is to awaken me so that I can feed his furry ass. Fuck that. I shoo him off the bed. Back to sleep
4:12 am: He’s back because apparently, he likes to be shoved.
4:20 am: And again. I swear to fuck, you do this again, Mugen, and I’ll cut you up and feed you to the other cat.
4:38 am: I’M UP YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HATE YOU AND I’M TAKING YOU BACK TO THE CAT ORPHANAGE!!!
5:00 am: I’m dressed in my superhero spandex and out the door to do battle with the treadmill and spin bike.
6:20 am: My sports bra has fused to my torso permanently with sweat. I walk back through my front door to find the shitstain of a cat staring at me from the living room area rug with an odd look. It’s the look a baby gives when it farts for the first time or you catch your child masturbating. We cool, cat? Cool kitty…
Nope – not fucking cool!
6:21 am: Mugen pukes all over the tile floor (thank heavenly fuck) just next to the rug he was dragging his ass across like a dog with itchy ass. Tile I can handle, carpet is so much grosser. Fuck me! Did you just puke again and why is it coming out like water?! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why is there so much?
6:23 am: “I can hear you throwing up on my goddamn shoes in there you little shitbag! Get out of my closet you fucking bulimic flea bag!” My cat has relocated his purging party into my closet. Apparently, audiences are too much for him; he does his best work alone. Between him waking me at the unholy hour of 4 am and now cavomiting (new word) into my boots, I’m ready to skin him and send him back to the shelter as a message to all the other “would-be” adoptees.
7:00 am: I throw open the door to my kid’s room and resist the urge to yell “get up and don’t make me remind you to brush your teeth, I’m already pissed off about cat puke.
7:15 am: Standing creepy-style over my sleeping boyfriend I wonder if he can feel the brain waves and malignant thoughts I’m burning into his skull. A little fucking help here? You gonna sleep through all this shit? Video games till 2 am again? Check. Snoring? Check. Zero assistance with anything? Check. Rad!
7:22 am: Boyfriend goes in for the kiss goodbye. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW? I know for a fact that you heard me cleaning up cat puke in the living room. I most certainly know that you heard the furry butthole come into the room then puke in my goddamn closet. I’m positive you heard me swearing through the whole ordeal. You aren’t fooling anyone when you shift in the bed and mumble softly, dickface. You’re looking at the queen. I invented that game. I know you’re not sleeping. Only bitches mumble in their sleep anyhow. No, of course I don’t need help cleaning the cat box or straightening the living room. Why would you think I would want help with anything? Did the goodbye kiss give it away? Maintaining eye contact during a limp-lipped kiss with my arms at my sides is kind of a telltale, isn’t it?
7:32 am: “Yo, Curran, are you ready? Please tell me you brushed your teeth.” Curran looks at me and asks for a pair of socks, telling me that he can’t find one solitary pair in his drawer. This is fucking unreal! I must be in the Twilight Zone. There is no possible way this child has not one pair of socks in the entirety of his room. It in unfathomable to me. I’m so close to snapping right now. I toss the kid a pair of mine. I almost handed him the pink ones, but I still love him. I just want to flick his ear right now.
I’d give anything to go back to just shoving the damn cat off the bed. Please save your “you can start your day over” bullshit for another time. I’m quite content living in the hot pink rage that is my Tuesday. With any luck I’ll get home and the cat will have shit on my comforter too. A final “fuck you, mom.”
-End rant
