I would like to take a moment to thank my cat, Snoop, for getting me out of doing the dishes most days. Well, technically, I don’t DO the dishes, so, I guess I mean getting me out of loading and unloading the dishwasher (whatevs, same thing). How has he done this you ask? By being a complete and utter asshole. I love him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he can be a total dick. Ask my husband. Wait, no, don’t ask him. Unless you want to sit for 20 minutes and listen to what an asshole Snoop is. Why do that when you can read it right now?

An ex-boyfriend of mine, who shall remain nameless (though, I can think of a lot of names for him), found him as a kitten out in the middle of nowhere. He brought me this cat knowing what a sucker I am for anything with a pulse. Mind you, I lived in an apartment with 2 cats already (awww, i can smell it now). So, I took Snoop in. Anyways, I ended up getting rid of the boyfriend and keeping the cat. Then I met Gustavo. He wasn’t a cat lover by any means, but he wasn’t a cat hater either. Until he and Snoop became roommates. You see, Snoop has this condition my vet calls “hypervocalization”" (AKA: He never shuts the fuck up). He will come into the bedroom at 3 am, sit at the foot of our bed and meow, and meow, and meow, etc. He would do this for an hour straight, if I didn’t pick up him and boot his ass out the doggy door. “Don’t let the door hit your tail on the way out, dude” I somehow convinced my husband that he was, “NEVER LIKE THIS UNTIL HE MOVED IN WITH YOU!” Finally one night, my wine drinking ass confessed to him that Snoop had always been like this and it wasn’t him at all. Talk about regretting something the next morning!! It was totally like a I had a one night stand with a guy with herpes, but much, much worse.*

The happy little family, 2 dogs and 1 asshole cat, bought our first house! Then we got a doggy door. Great idea for the dogs, not so great for the asshole. He started to bring us all sorts of things. At all hours of the day and night. Things = mice, rats, birds, and lizards. Sometimes they are dead, sometimes alive, sometimes in between. Like the time he brought in a live mouse at 3 a.m.. I can tell by the way he meows if he has something. Then we heard him chasing that something around the dining room. In my sleepy state, I prayed and prayed it was a lizard. I always pray its a lizard. But, I knew my prayers had gone unanswered once I heard the squealing. We chased the mouse around the house for an hour. Unable to find it, we barricaded ourselves in the bedroom and went back to sleep. Sometimes he brings in birds that fly around the house. Once he brought in lizard that bit the shit out of me (yes, they bite). If its an injured bird I take it to “The Avian Animal Clinic” by my house to see if they can save it. Or put it out of its misery. Gus likes to joke that they tell me “Thanks, mam, we will do everything we can to save it”, and then they snap its neck and throw it in the trash. Whatevs. In my mind, they hook him up to the little birdie life support machine and do all they can for it. Anways, once I woke up in the morning and found this:

Several times I asked my husband to help me out with the mice/rats. Once I went in and he had on two oven mitts and a some sort of fireplace utensil, that we have in front of our fake fireplace, and was searching the house. I then realized that Gustavo does not (read: cannot handle at all) like mice. It reminded me of my fear of roaches. So, we made a little agreement that I would handle all the rodents that the asshole brought in and he would handle any and all roaches. Yeah, I know, it sounds like I got the shit end of the stick. On the contrary, my friends!

A few weeks ago I opened up the dishwasher to load the dishes. Guess what the hell jumped out at me? A live, huge as shit, motherfucking, flying cockroach**! YES! It came in through the drain in the d/w. I ran away, shaking uncontrollably. Nearly puked and I’m pretty sure I cried. This happened to me once more a few days later***. So, now I have an unrealistic fear of doing the dishes and loading the dishwasher (more than I did before). I really have to psych myself up before opening it. So, most of the time, I just don’t. Gus gets home from work and I’m all like “You said you’d handle the roaches and there is a .05% chance that there is one in there so I was unable to clean the kitchen today. Sorry man, but that was our deal. Whaddya gonna do?”

Thanks, Snoop, for being such an asshole and having my lazy back!! It’s totally his way of thanking me for loving him unconditionally despite his flaws. I mean, I can be a hypervocalizer, too, and you don’t see Gustavo taking my ass to the pound…..yet.

*I have never had a one night stand with a guy with herpes.

**When I found the first roach I closed the d/w and turned it on. At the end of the cycle the roach was dead. Then I started feeling really, really guilty. What an AWFUL way to die. This is one of the reasons I know that I need major therapy.

***The D/W has been cleaned and sanitized. With that said, I totally understand if you want to bring your own dishes next time you dine at my house.