So Valentine’s day came up and I was feeling lonely. Gizmo and I have been dancing around the topic of a relationship but I decided to take a leap of faith. I asked him to be my Valentine. I brought him a flower, but it was plastic because he is allergic to pollen. He was a little hesitant at first, but he really liked the flower. So it’s official! We are together and my mom is proud of us for doing so even though life might be a little more tough due to judgmental jerk faces.
This evening was a bad one, but I guess it’s going to need some explanation. Ever since Gizmo got here I’ve been very confused. At first there was some hostility there, and I’ll even admit some jealousy. I was so used to being the center of attention. But after a few days we became fast friends; we chase each other all day, roll catnip balls back and forth, and wrestle all the time. Well about a week ago we were wrestling and goofing around, but then things seemed to change. I stared into Gizmo’s alien eyes and felt….a spark. He flashed his vampire-like fangs and I knew we had something special. Since that moment things have changed between us…our wrestling matches are no longer a rough-and-tumble sort of game, but a soft and sensual rolling around of sorts. Sometimes he’s even open enough to let me groom him. It was all exciting and fun, but tonight that all changed…it has been overtaken by embarrassment and shame. We were playing around and Gizmo let me groom his head. We were embracing and no one was expected to be home for at least an hour, so I guess we let things get a little heated. Okay, really heated. But all of the sudden, Aunt Rachel and Mom walked in and caught us. We froze in horror. Gizmo seemed to calm down a bit because he is a lot more open about this. But my mom never expected this from me. I ran away under the bed with my fluffy, raccoon tail tucked between my pantaloons. Mom sought me out and wanted to talk, but I told her to go away. She sat by the bed and told me I had nothing to be ashamed of and she loved me no matter what. She made it a little better, but it was still embarrassing. I mean I guess I’m maturing and all seeing that I’m 7 months old, but I guess she still sees me as her baby so she was quite surprised. I haven’t faced Gizmo yet. I think I’ll go have a smoke to calm my nerves and maybe then I can talk to him. I’m just so confused.
So I guess the Jizmo isn’t too bad. He’s actually kind of keeping me company. He didn’t even tell on me when I climbed up on the counter to eat the leftovers out of the sink, and he’s really good at digging into the bottom of the garbage to get the tuna can out. The only thing that really annoys me about the little bitch is that he squeals every time I bite his face. I mean, it’s how we cats play. And the aunts keep going on and on about what a hunter he is….all I see is a little pansy. He whines that I can’t feel the biting because I have like 7 inches of hair everywhere, but he’s kind of hairy too. And he’s kind of creepy. He has an alien quality to his face and sometimes when he’s sleeping, he leaves one eye slightly open. The guy’s definitely got his quirks, but who am I to judge. And apparently he doesn’t do crack, but just has a slight anxiety problem. I told him I have exactly the stuff that will help him calm down a bit, but he says he doesn’t do that stuff. But I guess it’s okay for him to be obsessed with catnip? Hypocrite.
So the diet thing didn’t work out so well. But what was her solution to this dilemma? To get me a friend. Did she discuss this with me before going to the humane society? No, that ho did not. Instead she comes home with this box with holes in it. She sets in on the ground and at first I thought she had bought an industrial sized vibrator since the box was shaking so much. When they opened the box I was surprised to see this skinny little gray thing spazzing out around the apartment. And this douche bag was walking, no I’m sorry, twitching around as if this place was his. I immediately told that crack addict to leave. I mean, I like to dabble in substances, shrooms, E, mary jane and on occasion acid, but I do not want that addictive shit near me. Just to give you an idea of how cracked out this mother fucker was, my mom and my Aunt Rachel were seriously considering naming him CBK for Crazy Box Kitty. This guy was messed up. My mom can obviously see this cat is insane, but what does she do? She yells at me to be nice and starts crying because I don’t like the freak. Then she goes on some rant about how lucky I am that she could afford to buy me a friend. Listen, if I wanted a damn friend, I would find a damn friend. But I don’t want one. I was perfectly content terrorizing Cumspot (well for the short while he was here). Well they ended up settling on a name; Gizmo. You know, after the Gremlin from that movie. They named him that because he’s a creepy mofo and growls when he eats and plays with toys. My aunts and mom are always going on and on, “Poor thing, he must have really had to fight for his food!” What about me, you oblivious spinsters?? Now I have to compete with this psycho for a small piece of turkey! How am I supposed to get my munchies on?! No consideration from these people. But I got my revenge. While my mom was watching TV one night with the aunts, I splashed some water by Gizmo’s legs without him realizing. I was hoping to get him in trouble for peeing, but instead my mom laughed and said “It looks like he came!” So now he got stuck with the nickname, Jizmo, or on sunnier days, Jizzy. I guess I’m a kind of connoisseur of nicknames. So Jizmo, if you ever want me to refer to you as Gizmo again (which is a weird-ass name to begin with), you can address me as Sampson the Great…BITCH!
A few notes on my mom; she is a neurotic perfectionist, a straight A student that drinks on school nights, and a die hard feminist that has penises as light switches. Needless to say she’s a little tricky to figure out. Well I never thought I had that problem with her. I thought that I got her and she got me. I was the center of her world and could do no wrong. She even let me share her ice cream cones in the summer, not caring if I had worms or not. She bought be two scratching posts, and I have accumulated four cat beds and over 20 cat toys loaded with catnip (the catnip is nice and all, but it’s for amateurs). But on September 6th she surprised me with her lack of understanding of where I was coming from. Apparently my mom thought I was moping around too much and took this as a sign that I was lonely. According to her, I missed the morbidly obese cat that scratched me back at her parents’ house, Harvey, and the other bitch that would hiss so hard when I walked by that spit would spray across my face, Kaley. In reality, I was just enjoying my new freedom without having to worry about the g-parents hovering over me and my mom’s sugar-high brothers squeezing me all the time. Is it really that much to ask to smoke in peace and take a nap? So what if she thought I was putting on a little weight from lack of “playing”. I guess playing to her is running for your life from demon children.
So I’ve been living in East Lansing now for about 5 months. It started out great. I came here with my mom and she was living with three other girls. I got massaged all the time, had endless amounts of treats, and only my mom cared that I smoked weed….the other three girls promised to keep it from her. The only other things in the place was Goose, a smelly ferret, and Kumquat, a little hamster. Goose was okay…a little too in-your-face for my liking but we got along well enough. And then there was Kumquat. He was the shit. All I wanted to do was hang out with him and sleep on his cage, but he was terrified of me and would spin endlessly on his damn wheel when he got worked up. And then I accidentally knocked over his cage and got yelled at. After getting yelled at I went on the porch to smoke a bowl and chill out and it came to me. I was going to call the little hairball Cumspot. Little shit acted all twitched and scared, banning me from the room that he lived so I thought it was only fitting. Mom thought the name was pretty funny, but Aunt Rachel, Cumspot’s mom, got really mad. I just told her to fuck off. Then mom got mad. You know, respect your elders/humans and all that. Whatever. I guess now I feel kind of bad about the nickname though, considering he died like a week later. I’ll admit that I might miss him a little. Whenever I think about it I just go outside and have a nice long toke and feel a bit better. Actually that sounds like a good idea. Peace out.