I hate Papi because she hates all the other cats (and picks fights with them) and only likes me part of the time. She’s holds a grudge forever. And she drools when she’s happy, too. I hate Sabrina because she keeps wanting to get on my lap, then just jumps right down. I hate Spike because he’s a troublemaker who gets all the ther cats wound up. I hadte Nick because he’s taken to urinating on my bed, after he’s done the head-butt, sweet cat thing. He doesn’t seem to be in pain or anything - I think he just doesn’t want to move.
I hate Hunter because she weighs 300 pounds and I don’t have the heart to dislodge her when I can’t turn over in bed in the middle of the nights because she’s pinned me down.
I hate Gecko because she has serious sibling rivalry issues with Hunter. If Hunter is on the bed sleeping with me, which she usually is, Gecko will jump on the bed, notice that Hunter is there already, and start a catfight, waking me up out of a sound sleep. (Hunter, a very social creature, would be thrilled to sleep in bed with the whole family.)
I hate that he’s as helplessly spoiled as he is. I have no idea where he got the idea that he gets fed on the kitchen island, when the others have to get their daily canned food on the FLOOR.
I hate that he’ll go to the litter box, pee in the big bowl my wife uses to clean the box with, then scratches a pile of litter onto the floor out of the box.
I hate when he leaves his girlfriend (a small, stuffed gray cat that he…well, he loves her in a biblical way… ) right where I’m going to trip over her in the dark.
Then he plops next to me on the couch, rolls on his side, looks at me and starts purring and I hate him for treating me like his personal slave.
I hate all 8 of mine because when it is time to close the office down for the night I have to do a roll call. I can’t just say “Cats Out!”, I have to say “Magic, out. 'Tino, out. Maggie, out. Spock, out. Bill, out. Cricket, out. Yogi, out. Dax, out.”
I hate Henry because when he decides it’s time for me to wake up and feed him, he does it by jumping up on the bed and sitting in the middle of my chest (he’s a heavy cat) with his face half an inch from mine, purring like a motorboat.
If after a while that doesn’t work he turns around and places the other end at the same distance from my face. That usually does the trick.
I hate Henry because he sits on the desk between me and the computer monitor, then starts licking his butthole with slurpy sounds!
I hate him because he thinks it’s a funny game to sit on the floor and meow and meow and meow and MEEEOOWWW to get me to come and pat him, and as I approach and bend down to do so, he skitters away just out of my reach. Repeatedly. Hilarious!
I hate Tybalt, the fuzzy black land shark, because even though he has a cat flap in the basement door, he still prefers to sit by an upstairs people door and cry piteously for minutes on end until I let him in.
And he usually does this while I’m rubbing one out. Somehow, he knows.
… the only thing I can think of is that his food is up on a windowsill so the dogs can’t get it and he’s very spoiled (he deserves it!) so he doesn’t like to jump up there by himself and eat unattended. He has to find somebody and annoy them til they carry him to his bowl and/or follow him to his bowl and lift him from the ground to the windowsill and/or stand there while he eats and pet him.
… and he’s very smart and knows how to turn the computer off. It has a funny sensitive sensor thingy on it. so if you’re ignoring him too much while you’re on the computer, he just turns it off.
But other than those two things… PERFECT! Not too needy, lazy, aloof, or stupid, doesn’t have any nasty habits like pooping where he shouldn’t spraying, coughing up hairballs, or puking, he’s pretty laid-back, but not enough that he’s a boring lump (that is, he would never tolerate wearing clothes or stuff being piled on him, but the small children in the neighborhood love him because he lets them play with him and never scratches or bites). You all wish you had my cat.
I don’t hate my cat either! I love her and she’s the best kitten ever! Of course she does a few little annoying things but no reason to dislike her for it. It makes her even more cute! She actually has just learned how to push open and then close doors. When the bedroom door starts opening and closing over and over at 3am then i’m not the most fond I’ve ever been of my cat. But I still love her
I hate Keisha because she’s an expert at projectile vomiting. Today, she managed to cover from the bathroom door, down the hallway and into my bedroom, almost to the bed, with smaller puddles in the kitchen and the living room. I had no idea her stomach held that much.
She’s also taken up curling, using the water dish. Tripping over, or stepping in, the water dish suddenly in the hallway in the middle of the night isn’t any fun.
I hate both of them because they think that anytime I get up after midnight, it must be time for BREAKFAST!
On the other hand, they’ve finally figured out, after 12 years, how divide the house, and my time, between the two of them so they don’t fight so much anymore.
And then it’s bedtime and they come and snuggle, and all is forgiven.
I hate Junior for being a sneaky little bastard who’s favorite thing is to hide and jump out at me so I scream. Also for opening the bedroom door climbing on a tall dresser and dive bombing me at 5 am. even after being told repeatedly he is not in my will.
I hate Gabby because he is an empty headed blonde bimbo who gets by on his looks. Most cats have walnut brains his is more of a pistachio. If he were one of the Stooges he would be Mo. and because he’s a unrepentant thief who tries to cutesy his way out of it when he gets caught.
That’s okay. I forgive you. I know it must be difficult having to live every day knowing that your animals and any animals you could ever get will never ever even come close to being as super awesome as mine.
It doesn’t. She had to barf, go to the food dish, refill, go back to where she left off, barf again, go back to the food dish, refill, go back to where she left off, barf again, go back to the food dish…
I don’t hate my cat at all; actually I rather like him. I think the reason our relationship is so stable and healthy is that my cat, in fact, does not exist. I suppose I could hate him for not existing and thus depriving me of reasons to hate him, but I have grown quite fond of his non-existence–it’s his one redeeming feature and nearly makes up for the trauma I feel when imagining all the petty annoyances he would surely perpetrate should he will himself into being.
Now the reasons I hate your cat, on the other hand, are varied and manifold. Allow me to enumerate…
I hate the orange one for being a Cat Hair Terrorist, and leaving clumps of himself to blow in the summer winds. I also hate that he has a face so cute I like to make up stories about how he’s really a wealthy industrialist that owns many companies but like to live with us because we’re folksy. On top of it, he gets more breast time than I do.
I hate his sister, the calico, because she adores me, and won’t stop telling me so. She’ll sit and stare at me for hours until I look at her. She’ll then give me the most pathetic meow and increase in volume until I pick her up for more strokins. On top of all that, I hate her for being a social eater, and not eating with her brother, but instead at our feet. I also hate that she doesn’t mind that I’ve declared her to be a member of the French Royalty (Orleans) and actually responds to her title of Marquesa.
My cat forces me to keep the floor clean, something that goes against my personal nature. But apparently it’s his personal nature to pee on anything on the floor. Papers, plastic bags, boxes…I think he’s forgotten what the litterbox is used for. He’s lately gotten into the habit of going outside to use the bathroom, which means he’s begun wailing at the top of his lungs while sitting at the front door to be let out.
He’s also so bony! He can’t curl up like other cats and he’s not all that snuggly, which makes it uncomfortable when he does want to cuddle. He also won’t just flop down; he has to walk all over your lap, turn around like a dog, bump into your leg…and then when he’s finally settled down and you put your hand on him, he’s so sensitive that his back just rises straight up and he does it all over again.
I hate Lloyd because he leaves wads and layers of himself on every thing he touches. Also, he chews off his claw covers and then sharpens his claws on the porch posts. I hate that he doesn’t like to be held.
I hate Bruno because he meows in the night and rattles the bedroom door. I haven’t slept through the night in years! He’s also smart enough to run when my feet hit the floor, so when I stagger out in the dark living room with The Squirt Bottle O’Punishment, I have to find him. I hate him for not minding The Squirt Bottle O’Punishment, so that I have to lock him in the laundry room. I hate him for making me feel so guilty about locking him in the laundry room that I have nightmares when I go back to bed. I hate him for forcing me to feed him four times a day and then not eating so I have to throw the food out. I hate him for wiping his Feline Facial Fluids of Affection on me. I hate him for tearing holes in the screens and bringing wounded little frogs into the house. I hate him for never washing his brother’s butt properly. I hate him for wanting to go in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out.
I hate Toxie because he LOVES to sit/lay in the bathroom sink and will. Not. Budge. So every morning we go through this whole routine of me first enticing him out with treats, then racing him back to the bathroom so I can complete my make-up without him reaching out and batting everything over the edge of the counter, then getting fed up and turning the water on him so he’ll move his ass so I can brush my teeth which results in him giving me the hairy eyeball for the rest of my time spent getting ready and more than likely making a biting pass at my ankles as I head out the door.
I keep explaining to him that SINK = WET, and he refuses to understand. Dumber than a bag of hammers.
