I didn’t want pets to look after. I really didn’t. My family always had a cat, so I’m a cat guy, but I didn’t want to deal with that kind of thing when I moved out on my own. Fur, piss, shit, puke, fur, scratches in the furniture, more fur.
Then we had kids. One day our daughter said she wanted a pet. I said no. Then she said once again that she wanted a pet. Maybe a kitty. Then I said yes, but only if she agreed to clean the litter box. I’m not so stupid to have actually believed she would have followed through on her end of that little deal. I knew who would be cleaning the shit nuggets and it wouldn’t be her. Nope. It would be Monica mwa ha ha ha ha!
So we got a cat. His name is Jeffrey. Jeffrey has sharp teeth and claws and he leaves little piles of fur everywhere in the house.
A few years passed by and our son said he wanted a dog. Absolutely not. There is no way I was going to get a dog. I didn’t want to deal with stink breath, piles of shit in my yard, dead grass in my yard that looks like crop circles from dog piss, or having to walk a dog. Nope. No more pets.
So we bought him some fish. Dogs generally don’t get along with cats, so we got the next closest thing to a dog that our son could take care of. Fish. But Monica generally cares for the fish. Mwa ha ha ha ha!
Having just kids is enough work, but now we have kids and pets. And instead of a dog chasing a cat around the house, we have a cat who wants to eat the fish. Then the kids are going to move out one day and we’ll be stuck in the fur-littered house with an old cat and whatever fish might be left. How does this shit happen?
Below: “You will be mine. I see you swimming in there, fish. I am going to quietly sit here and act cool so the humans don’t suspect anything, but believe me, fish, you will be fucking mine.”