Archive for the ‘Cats’ Category

Dear Mister Finch,

I do remember with distinct clarity the day you appeared upon my window sill. It was the last hard rain of April, a brilliant full-arc rainbow materialized upon the verdant green hills surrounding my home, then, as if from some romantic line of poetry or sweet lyric from a song, you landed outside The Number Two Window (of Four) which lines my home office vista.

Beautiful and Poignant: a small brown and gray bird, sharing my space. Peering at me. Even Charming. So much so that when I told my father, he commented that you must be a Messenger of some kind, here to tell me some tale. A friend said that you appeared to mark a new path in my life, a true Harbinger.

That was the first day we were together: me pecking away at my keyboard, and you joining in, pecking away at the glass like something out of Mary Freakin’ Poppins.

It is now almost July.

Please go away.

Or for the love of God, stop your infernal rapping in the middle of my slumber! And tell me why and how you discovered the location of my bedroom window?! On the opposite side
of my house?!

The only one which I cannot open, for if I indeed could open it, i would lace bread crumbs with poison for you to mistakenly feed on!

Go away!

Do you migrate?

Please don’t tell me I must wait for winter.

Please don’t tell me that was you who did that on my windshield either.

I don’t want to get a cat.

I hate cats.

R. Dario

Rantasaurus Says: Our very talented graphic artist, ladies and gentlemen, has quite the poetic streak. Nice use of flowery language, Rob, to mislead us as to the true nature of your hatred for the finch. Good work. You get an English major stamp of approval.


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I found this note stabbed into my dog Hagrid’s crate this morning. Apparently my cat Ellacution likes the jumbo butcher knife.

Hagrid — you’re a louse ridden slimebag. You’re a shithead. You come tromping in the house, bouncing around, flinging that monstrosity you call a tail everywhere. Tail whore.

It isn’t enough you have to knock things over, stick your nose in my sandbox (filthy pervert) and eat your own vomit. No. Today, you had to eat my favorite catnip toy.

Yes, I’m happy the Food Buyer got it back from you, but you SOILED Mouse. CONTAMINATED him. SULLIED his little toy existence. I couldn’t pick my little honey up in my mouth because you had slobbered all over him. I hate you. No amount of Food-Buyer’s washing will bring back Mouse’s nose or little felt ear.

Rear-sniffing retard! I hope you die. Touch Mouse again and I’ll rip through this crate and cut you.

Goddess of this House
Mistress of your Craptastic Existence

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Dear Cats,

I’ve tried to ignore this problem but in the last few weeks it’s become so odious, I don’t know what to do. You’ve been with me for, what, a year and a half now?

In that year and a half, I’ve done everything for you. I’ve given you free rent, free food, I’ve even… and this is shocking, cleaned up your toilet almost every day because you just can’t do it yourselves.

What do I get in return? Cuteness? Cuteness? Cats, how can you possibly think that cuteness is an adequate pay-back for me elbow deep in your pee and feces every day?

How does it possibly add up that you cuddle with me and sit on my lap whenever you feel like it, but I have to roll up my sleeves every day. Some days you don’t feel like snuggling, but you feel like manufacturing waste matter regularly. More than once a day, in fact. Sometimes once an hour if you’re feeling extra regular.

Take a look back at our relationship and you’ll see a legacy of abuse and advantage being taken. If this situation doesn’t get resolved… aww… Mittens… you’re making your cute face again! Come to Mama!


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In our tradition of stupid cat pictures to lambast Site That Shall Not Be Named, here’s a quasi-Italian cat with mild-mannered road rage.


I wish my cat could drive me around.  You listening, Smokey?

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Now this picture blows my mind. I can’t believe this gem was out there, on the Internet. This gives Site That Shall Not Be Named a run for its money!


Put on your creative hats, folks. What could these two poor people possibly have been doing?

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Dear cats,

I’ve tried and tried and you’re still meowing, hounding me, following me with your little eyes. What more do you want from me? Do you want my blood?


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Dear Roomate’s Girlfriend,

First and foremost, I hate cats. Period, Double Underlined, and BOLDED. Because these are my feelings toward the animal that I believe is the spawn of Satan himself, I can not give the go ahead for this. There is a reason why you hear of “crazy cat ladies” in the American vernacular. Cats are associated with loonies, and on top of that, they is not one ounce of smarts in their puny little brain.

Again, no one has ever heard of a search and rescue cat or a bomb sniffing cat. Now all of this would point to the fact that, yes, I am a dog person, but to be honest, I would take a pig, a giant 500 lb sow that rolls in and eat its own feces over a cat. I hope you’re getting the point here, because I could keep going.

However, I know that we live in a democracy, and if the other 3 guys have all said no problem, then there is little I can do. I would like to appeal to you and Greg’s good nature to meet these requests if you should choose to go through with this absolutely horrible idea:

  1. Bob Barker and I would require it to be spayed or neutered for everybody’s sake. Hopefully this leads the end to the proliferation of the cat species. Probably not, but at least you did your part. And god forbid we have one cat running around and have it screw the multitudes of cats that already roam the neighborhood. I believe we would have more problems with loose cats, but most of the neighbors probably eat them, which is one of the few perks of living in this area.
  2. He spend the majority of the time in Greg’s room…or if not in his room, out of my room and preferably out of my sight, or if its in my sight, not within my reach. Let it be known that I would never intentionally harm a living thing, but if I ever find that thing in my room, he would be put (not thrown) out my window and on to the roof. He might have the smarts to get down, but I wouldn’t bet on it. In fact I’d like see that little shit try. What type of animal climbs up trees and can’t figure out how to get down? Also, if that thing gets anywhere near me whilst I’m outside, I reserve the right to squirt it with the hose.
  3. That it’s declawed. The reason for this is two-fold: I wouldn’t want our already shabby furniture and carpet to become even more shabby, and secondly, cats can smell hate, and I’m pretty sure that within 2 minutes of being around me, it will want to claw my eyes out while I sleep.
  4. Lastly, that it be trained to become a functioning part of our household (if you happen to get one that has some resemblance of a brain). It should be able to vacuum, clean the dishes, and for the love of god be trained to bring me a beer whenever I want.

If these 4 requests are followed, I will do my best not to shave it everytime I get drunk. No promises though.

Thank you,

P.S. Many of you might think that my hatred toward cats is unfounded, like my hatred towards the French, sand, and jingling change in people’s pockets. I would like you assure you that it is not. Most of this letter has been tongue in cheek, but this, I assure, is true. It happened when I was around nine. My aunt, one of the aforementioned crazy cat ladies, had 13 cats on a big piece of land in New York. Only about 5 were housebound. There was this one named Teddy, he was a orange tabby like thing, and not fat and lazy, but still stupid. I went to pet him and instead he petted me in the cheek, with is 1 inch velociraptor claws. It was then I realized that all cats sucked and the fat cats that would let me be nice to them were only nice because they were too fat and lazy to try and disembowl me, and that all cats are stupid.

Anyway, I’ve run out of hate, wit, and general contempt toward all members of the Felis cattus group…and I should probably get back to work. You wanted honesty, you got it.

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