Thanks to you for leaving your rental house, next to my home, in total shit-hole mode. Because you hated the landlord so much. You fucked him over by leaving a mess. So cute. After years of putting up with his shit, because you dealt drugs, you finally had enough.
You also left your cat. Of six years. Simon. A sweet, neutered male, left to fend for himself for the last month. Did you think your slum-lord, land-lord, would take care of him? Christ, he wouldn’t fix your damn front door; why in the world would you think he’d give a flying fuck at a rolling donut about your cat?
You didn’t. You knew he’d cart him off to the pound. Or crush him with his boot; like I caught him trying to do. You didn’t have the balls to take care of Simon yourself. After six years of this cat loving YOU, you don’t have the heart to destroy him or find him a good home. You just leave him. Like a piece of fucking garbage.
I took him in tonight. He was so wary, so afraid, but he remembered my voice. And I had food. Poor baby, so damn thin; I’ve never felt a cat so thin–his bones damn near made a mark on my hands.
I don’t know what to do with him. Lord knows, my big marshmallow heart? I’ll take him in. Make my other cats get along with him. I’ve done it before, I guess I can do it again. Because I actually CARE.
But I hate you for what you did. You cold, unfeeling…oh, really, I can’t think of an expletive that encompasses all you are. I want to string together a blast of obscenities but it wouldn’t describe you. And you know what really kills me? You don’t care! I could call you every nasty name in the world and you’d just go about your nasty, worthless lives. Sucking crack and selling it to kids.
You just walk away and everyone else picks up the pieces. I hope hell has a big, huge, seat-ripped-out-with-a-huge-DILDO-in-its-place bike. And I hope you ride it. For all eternity. I hope the DILDO has sand encrusted on it. And your butthole is rubbed raw. And when you finally fall off, a bunch of cats come up and rip out your eyeballs. And eat them while you lie there, unable to do a damn thing. Would serve you right.
And frankly, I don’t think there is a person in the world who would hope any different for you.


I wonder which color hanky one wears for fenceposts?