I cohabitate with two of them in this house, but I feel the need to point out that one of them is a bigger asshole than the other. It’s not that the other one isn’t an asshole, it’s just that the one with barely two brain cells to rub together is the bigger asshole.
Because while he’s been blessed with fewer brain cells, he’s got a bigger set of lungs. And he likes to use them — often — to loudly declare that he’s hungry and would like to be fed. Immediately, please. Regardless of whether it’s mealtime or not, whether he’s just had food or not.
He’ll skip meals when he’d rather nap, giving me that look of smug cosiness when I ask if he wouldn’t like to eat instead. What do I know? I’m only human. But once his hunger strikes, the last fragments of his brain cells abdicate and he begins his loud tirade.
I work late into the night, and if he thinks he’s due a meal – regardless of whether that’s true or not – he’ll go into the room of my sleeping daughter and try to wake her with his complaints. Because while he may be the dumbest sonofabitch I’ve ever met, he also knows how to get your attention when he’s, in his esteemed opinion, about to starve to death. And that includes going to wake up the sleeping child so that she’ll get up and alert one of the adults, who are usually also still sleeping, because this most commonly occurs at 4 am.
So, late at night when he begins his lament, I have to constantly interrupt my work so I can chase him out of my daughter’s room. Close the door? It’s cute you think that’d work. But then again you’ve probably never had a cat as long as a flagpole who knows how to open doors. Loudly, I might add, since he lacks opposable thumbs with which to grab on to the door handles of closed doors.
What he doesn’t lack is determination. If he doesn’t succeed the first time, he’ll try, try again and make a motherfucking racket while he’s at it. Suffice it to say, in this house it’s just more peaceful to leave the doors open, and to feed the cat before he completely loses his shit.
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