I hate the cat because I have to wake it up sometimes to make sure it’s not dead. It’s over 25 so when it’s open mouthed and not showing signs of being alive, I have to touch it to see if it’s dead. I don’t care for the long teeth that stick you when scratching it’s chin. It’s such a lump I can flip it on it’s back and it just waits for whatever. At least least it’s a bag o bones cat and not a fat diabetic one. Bag o bones is the skinny all fur no meat one.
I hate our cat because since her brother died earlier this year, she is completely inseparable with us, meaning that we feel incredibly guilty whenever we try to take a weekend away, let alone a longer vacation (which my wife in particular is long overdue for). We spent a week away in July, and even though my BIL dropped by every day to keep her company, she stopped eating while we were gone, and we got worried sick that she was going to go through the same fatty-liver issues her littermate did. She’s fine now (or better, at least), but she’s such a sweet, wonderful, warm and loving kitty that we feel bad doing anything for ourselves when it means leaving her alone during her Golden Years (she’s 14).
That’s why I “hate” our cat.
Mine’s been on a vomiting jag all week because she just won’t stop eating greenery that later makes her vomit.
But I still love her.
It’s only when she decides to walk on my hair… at 3 in the morning… Or when she horks on the rug.
But somehow when she climbs in my lap and purrs, I forget all the rest. Stoopit cat.
Because she crapped on the floor yesterday (I suspect in retaliation for me working and not playing with her). My husband called her a Fecal Terrorist. Yeah, I guess I should take time to play with her, but I hate feeling like I have no say in how I spend my time - “PLAY WITH ME RFN OR THE CARPET GETS IT” doesn’t sit well with me.
I hate Penny because when she gets happy she feels the need to drool all over me. Catspit=eww. And she’s an incurable kneader, and always goes for my boobs.
I hate Dunkin because he pukes and half the time I discover it by walking into it, barefoot. Also because every now and then he whines pitifully, making me feel like a bad pet owner.
I hate Marshall because the only time he’s ever really affectionate is when I have food… or when he thinks I have food…
Finally, I hate Abby because she’s an attention-whore, and demanding, and stubborn as all hell. And because she can’t wait for me to settle into bed before climbing in and kneading me; she jumps all over the blankets as I’m getting situated, and hunkers down and grabs on, making getting comfortable a challenge.
But I love them all, anyway, damn critters…
I hate the wet cold nose nudge too. My sister’s cat doesn’t have a wet cold nose.
Because she gets fed at 10 pm and decides to let me know that food time is approaching, loudly, every 2 seconds starting at 9 pm.
Because mine whines and cries loudly at 5:00 in the morning, only to become insufferably snuggly and adorable in the 15 minutes before I have to get up, causing me to feel guilty for dislodging this wonderful creature who just wants to cuddle up to me and purr like there’s no tomorrow.
In the wintertime, when we heat the house and the bedroom door swells up and doesn’t quite shut all the way, my baby Crash (named after Crash Davis, but the name oddly worked out) figured out that he could open the bedroom door in the middle of the night and hang out with us by hurling himself at the door repeatedly with all the force he could muster out of his eight-month-old kitten body. Now that he’s over a year old, it’s summertime, we cool the house and the bedroom door stays shut easily. He still hurls himself at the door repeatedly from time to time, generally at about three in the morning. I feed the cats at night, so it’s not a lack of food. He just misses our company and wants to play all over our sleeping faces. I find it difficult to hate him now, when I’m describing it, but catch me at three in the morning when he’s doing it and I might just be trying to feed him to the sadly disinterested dog.
One of the males sneaks out the front door to chow down on grass & weeds like it is steak. I hate having to reach behind Holly bushes to pick up the [del]miserable sneaky bastard[/del] sweet feline.
The female beats on the two males & chases them to me so that they cry like they are hungry. When I feed them, the [del]sneaky Shamoo[/del] sweet sister suddenly appears demanding her share, which is always close to 75%.
I hate Tooken in the wee hours when he gets on my bed and licks my arm/face/neck. My husband’s got it worse, since he’s bald-headed.
After I throw Took off the bed, he gets under it and scratches at the lining on the bottom of the box spring. I have to squirt him with a water pistol to make him stop, and then I usually can’t get back to sleep and am up for a couple of hours. Little bastard.
I hate Dinah from 4:30 p.m. until I go to bed, because every time stand up I must be going into the kitchen to get her (and the others’) dinner or treats. If it doesn’t happen to be dinner- or treats-time, I get yelled at for the next half hour. (Dinner is at 6:00. Treats are when I feel like it anytime after that.)
I hate Violet for crying with such desperation for attention that she craves but doesn’t seek out or stick around for. Making me feel guilty, and it’s not my fault!
They are very sweet cats and I love them.
Since then she’s chewed up a printer cable, and nearly destroyed my Guitar Hero controller. I’m not entirely sure how my modem and router still work, either. I have no idea how she’s not electrocuted herself.
I hate Rio because he picks on Molly. I hate Molly because she has 3 colors of fur so it shows on anything I wear. I hate Punky because he drools when I pet him.
And I adore them all.
I hate my kitty a little because she won’t play. She gets bored with any toy after a few seconds and isn’t inclined to cuddle or purr often. About the most interactive we get is when she’s about to playbite or bat my hand, and that’s a little too risky to really enjoy. And yet she is the most incredibly soft cat with a lil baby-doll face (even though she’s 9).
I hate my boy Marbles because this week he discovered that counter–>fridge–>top o’the cabinets routine. He’s been alternately knocking breakables onto the kitchen floor and spending time locked in the bathroom.
I love him 'cos he’s starting to “get it.”
I hate him because he now finds other things to knock over.
I hate that Simon tries to lick my wet toothbrush. I hate that he will NOT eat until I show him the food in his dish. I hate that he wakes me up at 0430 to whine about lack of food–he now gets shut in the basement at night. I hate that he cost me over $500 in July for a urinary tract infection (long story). He’s a right bugger, to borrow from our British friends, but he’s cute as hell.
I hate Shadow because his idea of a good time includes sticking his face in my armpit and his idea of playing includes trying to bite me (a habit I’m trying to break him of.)
I hate Poopy because no matter how many times I tell him “no,” he still tries to watch me eat at every meal.
I hate Buggy because he’s the world’s biggest drama queen and likes to walk through the house crying as loudly as he can.
I hate it that the aforementioned two wait until I come home to eat their food, pig out, and vomit on the floor. While I’m eating, of course.
I hate Mama because she wants to be snuggled constantly. Actually, I’d be pretty happy to snuggle her almost constantly if she could just lie still and refrain from putting her cold, wet nose on my arm.
I hate Fuzzy because she likes to get on the table and the baker’s rack and when I try to scold her, she looks at me like I’m from another planet. She is the world’s stupidest cat. I swear, most days when I come home she looks at me like she has never seen me before in her life.
I hate my cat because he can’t tell when there is food in his bowl. Sometimes he’ll meow at 5 a.m. only to have someone walk him to his food bowl so that he can eat the food that has been sitting there all night long.
I also hate him because he snubs fresh water. I will refill his water bowl once, he’ll smell it, and then walk away and start meowing. I refill it again and then he sits down and drinks.
I let these things slide because Tom is usually a nice fluffy ball of pleasantness.