My Name Is Paulius, And I'm A Dumbass

I must be a real glutton for punishment.

Despite the fact that my fish are trying to bankrupt me, and my cat is trying to kill me, I went ahead and did it anyway.

We got a new kitten.

A stray had taken up residence at my stepson’s house, had its babies, and we just couldn’t resist. We now own a ginger long-hair kitten that we’ve christened Padme, although only time will tell if little Padme is actually a little Anakin.

Knowing my luck, it will be an Anakin, and in 6 months I’ll have ‘Darth Furball’ to deal with.

So why get a new cat, if I already own one…albeit a psychopathic killer moggy?

Well my old cat (Malibu is her name…and no, we didn’t name her ourselves) decided one day that she didn’t really like us anymore, and took up residence in the guest bathroom. The only time she would even consider leaving that bathroom was when she could see the bottom of her food bowl. (Not an empty bowl, mind you, just if she ate a few bites and could see the bottom). Even then she refused to actually leave the bathroom. She’d simply pop her head around the door and mewl at the top of her voice until someone rectified the situation.

That’s the main difference between dogs and cats. Dogs see you as family. Cats see you as staff.

“You! Yes you! Human boy! You call this a hotel? How dare you allow me to see the bottom of my food bowl! I ought to have you thrashed to within an inch of your life, you uppity human. Wrap that primitive, simian brain around this, monkey boy! Rectify the situation at once, or I shall speak to the manager!”

Then the bitch ‘tips’ me with a fur ball…in my shoes.

Since that time, she decided that she hated us so much, that she decided to live outside. One day, we opened the front door and our pampered housecat charged for freedom. I think she wanted me to beg her to come back inside. The reaction she got:

“Fair enough, you wanna stay outside? Screw you, you feline Hitler! You made your bed, you lie in it!”

...Wasn’t quite what she was expecting.

She made sure we knew just how much fun she was having: Fresh air, hot and cold running mice, she definitely wanted me to know that she was living the good life.

I laughed my ass off the first time it rained.

If I had taken a picture of the rain-drenched look she was giving me through the window, you could put it into the Oxford English Dictionary, right next to the entry for ‘pure evil’.

Oh, I laughed…I laughed and laughed and laughed. She could have taken shelter in her ‘kitty kennel’, but apparently, she didn’t like the carpet, the décor was so last year, and some inconsiderate bastard hadn’t rolled out a red carpet in front of it.

“MEEEEAAAAAWWWW! Let me in, fuckers!”

“What was that Malibu? I can’t hear you!”

“I’ll get you for this, human! Oh, you’ll pay, I promise you that, you English Bastard!”

Now before someone reports me to the RSPCA, I have to point out that she has a ‘kitty kennel’, and through visiting my Parents in Law and step-daughter…she’s eating a hundred times more than she ever has.

She’s enjoying herself…bitch.

In other words, I only see that cat once or twice a week. Usually when she tries to trip me, lead me into a trap, or just to flip me off.

Another summer favourite for her is to wait until I’m lying in the sun on a warm summers day, stay out of sight until I’m just dozing, then she sneaks up, screams in my ear and runs off laughing her little feline ass off …as I suddenly levitate 6 feet into the air, still in the lying down position.

It’s true, Dogs look at you and think: “This person feeds me, takes care of me, gives me attention and shelter…truly, he must be God.”

Cats look at you and think: “This person feeds me, takes care of me, gives me attention and shelter…truly, I must be God.”

So that explains the cat. What about my evil scheming fishies?

Well, in spite of all my best efforts, including a number of over-prices medicines, they’re not improving. The neons, being the smallest and weakest are all dead.

Typical, my favorites, of which I had 8, die, and they cost about 3 dollars a pop.

The goldies are looking really bad, and the calico, the ringleader in their evil plot, doesn’t seem to be improving either. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to sterilize the tank and re-stock for a long while, if they don’t make it. Hopefully, the Calico, will reap what he has sown, and will be given a vicious sack beating by the goldfish.

“You got us into this, you power-mad piscine retard! I’ll kill you!”

“Listen, fellas, I’ve got a plan!”

“A plan? A plan!!! Another motherf**king plan?!? It’s your plan that covered me with these motherf**king parasites! We’re all gonna die because of you. We’re taking the porcelain highway to the sewage plant of despair because of you!”

“Honest, this one will work…please listen!”

“Steve? You get the car battery, and Joe? You get the sack of doorknobs.”

“Noooooo!”

Serves them right. The water breathing, gill-faced, dorsal-finned bastards.

So that’s why I got a new pet. One that is being quarantined from Malibu’s evil mind control, and well away from the fish’s evil influence. I’m hoping to actually have a pet this time that is fun, fairly low maintenance, and doesn’t want to kill me.

In fact, a while back, I watched the special features on the ‘Catwoman’ DVD. More precisely, the part that showed the trained cats.

I listened to what the ‘Cat Wrangler’ had to say:

“People think it’s impossible to train a cat, that’s not true, they’re just as intelligent as dogs. When people buy dogs, the first thing they do is put them into a training regimen, even if it’s just housetraining. With cats, people tend to show them where the food and litter box is, and that’s the beginning, middle and end of their training. It’s no wonder no one has a cat that will sit and come on command.”

I was intrigued, impressed and motivated. I decided there and then that I was going to train the new cat. People would come from far and wide to see the amazing performing cat, that will sit when told, rather than just giving you a dirty look and the middle finger.

So early this morning, I started Padme’s training regimen. I decided to keep a diary that I would post on here, and let you all know that training a cat is possible.

Here it is:

Saturday, June 25, 2005:

10am.

Training begins! Feeling very happy and motivated. Padme seems excited and is enjoying the attention. I will begin by teaching her the simplest of commands. ‘Sit’.

12 noon:

Padme seems more interested in attacking my socks, need to get her to focus, maybe treats will work.

12.30:

Treats don’t work. She ate, burped, laughed...then promptly fell asleep.

4pm:

That ‘cat wrangler’ guy is a lying bastard. He’s talking complete and total bollocks. I must have been insane to listen to him. Very funny, producers of ‘Catwoman’, all those cats are definitely CG. What a complete waste of mother f**king time! If I ever see the ‘cat wrangler’ in real life, I’m definitely going to punch him in the face and kick him in the balls.

Thus ended the great cat-training experiment.

Oh well, at least she’s cute, and doesn’t appear to want to kill me.

…yet.