I Hate My Cat

DSCF2120I have a confession:
I hate my cat.
Am I ashamed?
Mildly so
But I make no bones about it
She smells
She’s fat
I have to wipe her ass
I didn’t ask her to stay
She snuck into the basement and gave birth–
How could I say no to five kittens and two eager kid faces?
Didn’t think she’d stick around
After they were weaned.
She did.
I had her spayed.
She got fat,
Didn’t want to live in the basement any more.
Winter was coming,
How could I refuse?
And she’s been lying around ever since.
I could buy myself a fur coat with all the money I’ve spent on vet bills,
And then she has the nerve
To up and leave.
Just when I think she’s dead and gone
And I’m on the brink of tossing the kitty litter for good,
Dredging up a few fond memories to send her on her way,
She shows up again.
My husband says she’s found herself a fancy man
I say, it’s someone with a readier can opener than mine.
And yet, what can I say,
The animal’s tenacious,
A born survivor,
Still alive and kicking at 17
You’ve got to admire that
In a cat.



10 thoughts on “I Hate My Cat

    1. writeejit Post author

      Yes! It’s a love/hate thing, but I have a deep rooted respect and admiration for the beast. Hence the numerous vet visits.

  1. emma shaw-smith

    Love it! Made me laugh in an otherwise dreary day. Tenacious oldies! Know the feeling!!! Love the photos too. Ex

    Emma Shaw-Smith


  2. Brenda

    I love this. Did you know every sane person who has a cat feels the very same way? So don’t feel alone. Most folks just aren’t as truthful as you. That’s how we remain sane when living with these creatures whether we say it outloud, or not. We think it.

    Like the time my daughter brought a cat home from a skiing trip. She (the cat) was so traumatized by her experience of being left in a snowy parking lot that she wouldn’t come out of my daughters’s closet for two whole months. A young cat at the time she went into her prison as a skeleton and came out really fat, huge and gorgeous. Even our Doberman kept his distance. Our daughter named her Thumbs. She had what we were told were double paws.

    Once out and about she ruled our home like the queen that she was . . . until she found another home . . . somewhere. She never let us know where she went.

  3. Pingback: TOP TEN THINGS I’VE LEARED ABOUT BLOGGING | Melissa Shaw-Smith

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