The best thing about having pets is that you never know what the little bastards will do next.  I live with 3 cats and a dog, so there’s constantly some damn silliness going on.  First there’s Penny, our boston terrier.  With eyes like Biggie Smalls and her “doody, doody, doo” attitude, she walks aimlessly around pissing off the cats and not the slightest clue what she’s doing.

Besides Penny, aka Miss P, there are the 3 amigos.  First there’s JB, the opera singer.  He loves to lay on my chest at 3am and serenade me.  Then there’s Kitty, THAT bitch.  She’s the diva that walks around like her shit don’t stink all while pissing just outside the litter box.  She reminds me of the bitter, holier than thou bitches at the church I used to go to.  USED to go. I know I’m going to hell, don’t need to be reminded of it every Sunday.  And last but not least, there’s Brandon, the premadonna.

Brandon is the spoiled brat of the crew.  He’s constantly fighting for the attention of my wife – usually smacking the hell out of Miss P to get it.  I go to the gym a lot so I always have my gym bag ready to go. I keep it chock full with my workout clothes, gloves, lock and key, and my iPod.  The problem is that I keep the bag unzipped and Brandon uses it as his home away from home.  I usually yell at him, he gets out, no big deal.

So one evening I decide to go workout and as expected Brandon’s sitting up in the my bag.  I yell at him and he jumps out.  I zip up and head out.  I get to the gym and head into the locker room.  I put my bag on the bench by my locker and an old guy walks over to the locker next to me.  I open my bag and sit on the bench to take off my shoes.  The old guy strips down to his draws and that’s when it hits me.  The strong over-powering smell of shizzle!!  It was bad.

I looked over at the old guy and thought, “Did that old man sh*t on himself? And if he did, why is he not making any effort to handle that?”  The smell was getting worse.  My eyes watered and I thought my ass was gonna pass out.  I’m sitting there staring at the old guy and he looks at ME with a disgusted look on his face.  Like I did it!!  I’m thinking, “No this mutha– don’t think I did that!”

So after 2-3 mins. staring back and forth in disgust, I reach into my bag.  Suddenly I feel something warm and gooey. At that moment I realize what the smell was. That goddamn Brandon took a SHIT in my gymbag! Before I could even pull my crap-filled hand out of the bag, the old man darted out of the locker room.  And after multiple washes and cursing the hell outta that cat, I bounced, shitty bag and all. All I could think was, “I’m gonna beat that cat’s ass when I get home!!”  I walked out of the locker room and into the main lobby as quick as I could, hoping I wasn’t leaving a stench behind me. The worst part was that the old man didn’t leave. This Ben-Gay smelling bastard stood at the front desk with the employees giggling about something. That something was me. I know it was because the moment I walked out, everybody stopped giggling and watched me leave.

I was steaming driving home…and so was that bag! Now I’m driving home freezing because I gotta drive with the windows down! When I got home, I stormed through the door bag in hand. My mission, put my foot so far up that cat’s ass,  every shit he takes will have the Nike symbol in it! So after my wife asked why I was home so early, I showed her what her precious Brandon did and instead of compassion and empathy, I got nothing but straight laughter! She thought that shit was hilarious! “Funny, huhn? We’ll see how funny it is when I staple his ass shut!” Now the wife is on the floor, rolling.

Like am idiot, I’m chasing this cat all over the house knowing damn well I can’t catch him. Finally I corner him and I’m just about to run amuck on his  little ass. But then he looks at me with those fearful yellow eyes as if to say, “Please don’t hurt me.” And I realize…this dumbass has the brain capacity of a doorknob and has no clue why I’m trying to kill him. I just sigh, and pet him and he purrs, rubs up against me and walks away. Sucks. At that moment I felt bad for wanting to kill him and worse that I couldn’t get my closure on.

My wife looks at me, “You done? You feel better?” I laugh a little. “Yeah, I’m done. The little bastard didn’t mean it.” I kiss her softly on her cheek. “I’m gonna take my bag downstairs and clean it out.”

I turn around to get my bag and what do I see?? The GODDAMN cat is in the bag again making the shit face.

I am done, and now I’m Out!

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