Like I’m Some Deranged Weirdo
I woke up with that same punch in the stomach that I would always get on mornings when a lowlife neighbor (so many of them) would pick a fight with me whilst feeding cats.
I realized it was last Thursday (eight days) that Butterface on a Bike circled me like the baby shark she is.
Fugly cunt must be out there right now. DIE.
I fed them daily for three years. THREE YEARS.
I haven’t fed the kids since Saturday, when Latin Bitch Boy hosed down the cats/food because he is a FUCKING BITCH.
And TBH I don’t really trust that my fellow feeder stepped up after I resigned. She’s sweet but flakier than baklava.
But … I got a surprise last night.
I ran out to get some dinner. And when I came back at 7 p.m., I saw Meatball! And Whiskey! And Fancy! EATING!!!
“I look in people’s windows
In case you’re at their table
What if your eyes looked up and met mine
One more time?”
Lordt, I cried. They looked so happy.
They didn’t look up. Which, they used to dance and run when they’d hear my car.
Not anymore.
Meatball and me after Latin Bitch Boy took a hose to them.
I thought about all the fuckin lowlifes here who think it’s their right to harass humans and abuse (or, at least not be kind to) animals.
Like, it was hard for me to drive past them and not love on them.
But how do you actively hate on them and try to TRAP them and otherwise STOMP THROUGH THEM to send them running?
Are you really that much of a fuckhead that you cannot see a cat eating a morsel of food that they didn’t have to work for?
And they did work for it! We used to have RATS in our trash rooms. We DON’T anymore.
And frankly we should because our trash compactor bit the dust three months ago and we have to all walk our trash downstairs now and the room stinks so bad now.
Anyway.
It’s not that I would wish, say, a necrotic, fungating wound on Carl, Lauren, MJ, Connie, Frank and Butterface on a Bike.
But I would raise a big fat glass of something expensive to the universe if they suffered the way they want those babies to suffer.