So last night I get home and Bugsy’s cone is lying on the bed, with no cat in it. It turns out Michael took it off yesterday because it looked to him like Bugsy’s ears were okay. I wanted to wait at least until today, because I thought they looked a little too pink still.
Now as it turns out, the cat’s ears do look okay and Michael said he didn’t see him scratching. But the thing is I’ve been the one, taking the cone off, cleaning the ears, shoving pills down his throat, putting the cone back on and listening to the crying and whining the whole time. I’m the bad guy. I do the shitty work, and Michael gets to be the hero. What the hell?
So I get home and Bugsy hides under the bed cause he thinks I’m gonna re-cone him. But I’m not. So I tell Michael, “okay but you give him his pill tonight.” He says sure but then he decides he needs to go out to the grocery store at 9:30pm. But we have to give the cat his pill by 10pm. So of course, I have to struggles with a crying, pissed off cat yet again. Trying to pry his little jaws open without breaking them, while I hold his little body in a leg lock. No sooner do I get the pill down his throat, Michael is back. (How convenient.)
So he’s bringing the groceries in and Bugsy decides to get back at me by pooping on the carpet in the living room. Not big, just two little nuggets placed right where he knows I’ll see ‘em. So I clean it up and I fuss at him. And 2 minutes later I catch him in the act depositing another little nugget in the same spot. This time I really yell at him. He just sits there with this “so what” look on his face. That pisses me off cause he’s not even cowering before my rage.
So I pick him up, carry his squirming body to the litter box and put him in it, yelling the whole way. As soon as my back is turned he steps out of the litter box and deposits another nugget outside of the litter box…just four inches away!! – I didn’t discover it until later. He comes back in the living room and starts making like he’s gonna drop a few more nuggets. I’m standing over him yelling “don’t even think about it mister! You go to your litter box. You know better! I will not tolerate this sort of behavior!!” But he’s still posturing like “screw you, you pill-nazi-cone-fascist, I’ll poop wherever I please, and you’ll clean it up!”
Then Michael comes in and I’m yelling at the cat. I tell him what Bugsy’s doing. He sees him getting ready to drop a nugget, grabs him, carries him back to the litter box, yelling at him the whole way. Of course, this time the little creep, gets in the box and poops and then runs away (without covering the poop so the smell hits you).
God! This is it, isn’t it? This is a foretaste of parenthood. I’ll be the one playing bad cop and Dad will let them off the hook. Then they’ll take it out on me and I’ll have to rely on Michael to fix it. Jeez! I’m gonna sign myself up for a parenting class. I need skills to handle this without becoming an abusive parent. Or an abusive pet owner for that matter.
I told Michael he is DEFINITELY giving Bugsy his pill tonight cause I’m not cleaning up any more carpet poops. Michael said if Bugsy tries a repeat performance of last night he’s gonna be the only flying cat in the neighborhood.
Well at least Otis did not jump on my stomach last night. Since his brother is on my bad side he knows he doesn't need to vie for my attention for a while.