Here Kitty Kitty

This video tells you everything you need to know about cats. If you don't have a cat, and are considering getting one, this is what you have to look forward to.

Personally, I am done with animals. I have declared it without reservation to my family: No More Animals Ever. When the current ones die, they will not be replaced. Terminus. Finito.

My oldest cat, my first, was a raging bitch the first time I met her. She was eight months old, and I was in the cat social area, test driving her at our local humane society, and she wouldn't let me touch her, hissed, hid, and, inexplicably, I called my husband and wailed, "I love her!!!" Oprah always says that people show you who they are (completely true in my opinion, just look at Lou Dobbs) and so do cats. She's all black, with the silkiest fur you've ever touched, and we named her Sunny. The irony is endless.

It was all fine at first. She was an indoor cat with an eating disorder. We doted on her, we caressed her, we bought her toys, and, except for the indoor part, she seemed pretty happy. She liked me best, and Rob was jealous. Neener neener.

Then one day, I was in a foul mood, and I stopped at the pet supply store to get some cat food. There was a sign on the door that said Kitten Adoptions Today, and I knew when I saw the sign that if I stepped foot in the store, I would walk out with a kitten. I walked in, saw three little orange tabbies, called my husband from the cell phone, and he was at the store in seconds. We chose Dudley, a long skinny thing with enormous ears and a tail that was bent in the middle, and feet like a kangaroo's. We renamed him Sam, bought him his own scratching post and insulted Sunny by bringing him home.

Sunny tortured Sam. Sam just wanted to be friends, to snuggle, but Sunny would have none of it. It was pitiful. But they did serve their respective functions; Sunny would sit on my chest, and Sam would stretch out on Rob's legs, and everyone was happy.

Then we had a baby, and Sunny decided to register her displeasure by peeing the corner of the baby's room. It got so bad that we kicked Sunny out doors (all she ever really wanted) and had to replace the carpet and part of the floor. There was peace. Sunny was happy outside, although happy, for her, is a relative term, and Sam had the bed to himself. Then we got a dog, and all hell broke loose.

I don't know what we were thinking. Sunny hates everyone now. She sometimes sits on my chest and drools on me and lets me pet her. She comes in just often enough to shed black silky hair on everything. Sam is confined to the bedroom. He's on the bed all day, waiting for when we come to bed, so he can stand right between my eyeballs and the TV, and then kneed holes in my arms. I figure they'll start to die while Leila is in high school, and by the time she's in college, I'll be able to use my back bathroom for more than a stinky litter box, and I'll be able to sleep without cat hair on my lips. Dare to dream.