Flea Bag
Well, my stupid cat has fleas. No, that doesn't mean I have fleas as well...ever since we found them on him, we have kept him out of the house. So, for the past three days or so he's just been standing by our door yelling at us to let him in. Now, usually this is just the kind of behavior I hate from Simba. The damn thing comes around just to eat and yell at us, then he goes back outside. So, usually when I see him standing by the screen with that "can I come in pwease?" face on him, I usually just shut the door on his face...u know, serve him right. Now that he HAS to be kept out of the house, you'd think it's be party-time for Kyle...I mean I could eat all the meaty foods I like and flaunt it in front of him fromthe other side of the screen, I can listen to him whine from outside the door and have the satisfaction of knowing that I DON'T eventually have to get up and let him in...and I can have all the girls I want over without having him interrupt my make-out sessions by wandering into the room and yelling at me for a snack. Instead, I felt a strange feeling...I felt bad for him. I mean, sure he takes advantage of us and gets everything he wants, but we let him do it. Now that he just wants to do what he always does, he can't anymore. He's probably out there thinking that something is going wrong...maybe he's thinking we'll never let him back in, maybe he's thinking we just don't want him anymore...whatever it is, he's probably worried sick because things just aren't right.
So, this morning I had to whip out the dreaded catbox...something he's only been in twice in his life...and one of those times were so that he can get fixed. My dad and I waited for him to come to the door once again, and this time we let him in...he had a look of suspiscion on his face, knowing that SOMETHING must be up now that we're suddenly being so nice to him. He walked in and headed for the kitchen, but we scooped him up and stuck him in the box. The moment we shut the lid, he began to yell...and by yell, I mean I don't think I've ever actually heard him yell like this...is seriously was the equivalent of a toddler crying. Now, I know all we were doing was taking him to PetCo to get a flea dip...I mean, it's nothing bad...in fact he'll come back feeling better than ever and completely groomed. But, I couldn't help but feel horirble because HE didn't know that. I knew that everything was fine, but there was no way to let him know that everything was going to be ok. He's there stuck in a box, looking at us with pleading eyes through an air-hole. He cried all the way to PetCo, probably dreading the worst. And on top of all this, my guilt is deepened by the fact that I'm infamous for my "I hate Simba" attitude. He already thinks I hate him...and now I'm the one shoving him in a box and taking him away from home. I felt even worse when the lady at PetCo asked me if he was a nice cat...and I honestly answered her, "He's a great cat, he won't give you any trouble."
Mom is going to be the one who picks him up...his savior...and I'll always be the asshole who put him through Hell. But by the time most of you read this, the whole ordeal will be over and Simba will probably be standing right next to me annoying the crap out of me, like usual. But I don't thiink after today I can kick him away like I usually do. It's not until something goes wrong that you realize how much something means to you...how much someONE means to you. I know it sounds dumb, but I love Simba. I mean he's been a member of my family for eight years. I don't appreciate him and a lot of the time, it doesn't seem like he appreciates me. We don't understand each other, and most of the time we sure as hell don't even like each other. But, just because of whatever circumstances brought us to that point, it doesn't mean that I don't love him. And when you love someone, you better make damn sure they know it. Because when something happens and suddenly one of you thinks the worst, if you don't have that love established, you're both in for the worst of experiences.
Damn Simba...has to be such a freakin good cat...
So, this morning I had to whip out the dreaded catbox...something he's only been in twice in his life...and one of those times were so that he can get fixed. My dad and I waited for him to come to the door once again, and this time we let him in...he had a look of suspiscion on his face, knowing that SOMETHING must be up now that we're suddenly being so nice to him. He walked in and headed for the kitchen, but we scooped him up and stuck him in the box. The moment we shut the lid, he began to yell...and by yell, I mean I don't think I've ever actually heard him yell like this...is seriously was the equivalent of a toddler crying. Now, I know all we were doing was taking him to PetCo to get a flea dip...I mean, it's nothing bad...in fact he'll come back feeling better than ever and completely groomed. But, I couldn't help but feel horirble because HE didn't know that. I knew that everything was fine, but there was no way to let him know that everything was going to be ok. He's there stuck in a box, looking at us with pleading eyes through an air-hole. He cried all the way to PetCo, probably dreading the worst. And on top of all this, my guilt is deepened by the fact that I'm infamous for my "I hate Simba" attitude. He already thinks I hate him...and now I'm the one shoving him in a box and taking him away from home. I felt even worse when the lady at PetCo asked me if he was a nice cat...and I honestly answered her, "He's a great cat, he won't give you any trouble."
Mom is going to be the one who picks him up...his savior...and I'll always be the asshole who put him through Hell. But by the time most of you read this, the whole ordeal will be over and Simba will probably be standing right next to me annoying the crap out of me, like usual. But I don't thiink after today I can kick him away like I usually do. It's not until something goes wrong that you realize how much something means to you...how much someONE means to you. I know it sounds dumb, but I love Simba. I mean he's been a member of my family for eight years. I don't appreciate him and a lot of the time, it doesn't seem like he appreciates me. We don't understand each other, and most of the time we sure as hell don't even like each other. But, just because of whatever circumstances brought us to that point, it doesn't mean that I don't love him. And when you love someone, you better make damn sure they know it. Because when something happens and suddenly one of you thinks the worst, if you don't have that love established, you're both in for the worst of experiences.
Damn Simba...has to be such a freakin good cat...