Monday, June 25th
Walk into bedroom, notice lump in pristine bedding. Smack bump as hard as possible with an open palm in an attempt to karate the balls off of a previously immaculate comforter.
Immediate regrets. Lump is verified to be black cat who shits in my closet and therefore lives here now says Adrian. Cat proceeds to howl and slither-leap from the bedding and perma-weld itself to my thighs. I scream, she screams, and we spin wildly through the room together for 3 minutes while attempting to dislodge ourselves in what is commonly known as a bitch-fight. Cat uses me as a springboard to escape to the dark part of the closet. I shout that the cat was rendered from Satan’s dick warts.
Wash Cat puke covered bathmat.
Tuesday, June 26th
I put on a scarf, a fashionable and appropriate choice for errand-running. Cat enters the room silently and leaps on a dangling end of the scarf, cinching that motherfucker like a corset around my throat. I make a sound that started as a scream and ended as a very loud “HERRRRRTHORP,” thanks to the lack of vocal cord movement. I step on one edge of our glass scale, wang my eyeball on a towel hook, and in a last ditch attempt to free myself of that navy-blue linen stockade, I pull as hard as I can on the scarf. This launches the end that Cat is attached to whipping through the air and near enough to my eyes for me to see her hatred. Cat then runs away while still holding one end of the scarf, slamming my head into the wall.
Wash Cat puke covered dog bed.
Wednesday, June 27th
I reach for my towel while getting out of the shower, only to be swiped at by a black paw that emerges from the depths of the shower curtain and shower liner gap. Right wrist is cut down the tracks, not deep enough to bleed. Fake suicide, Cat? Not today.
Wash Cat puke covered shoe.
Thursday, June 28th
Open contact case, find the left eye slot to be filled with black cat fur. Bitch got thumbs. Bitch wanna play. I must wear glasses all day in an attempt to avoid an allergic reaction. Cat walks in between my legs for hours, taking full advantage of my hindered sight.
Wash Cat puke covered bathmat. Again.
Friday, June 29th
Cat meows needlessly from behind the luggage in the dark part of my closet for 2 hours, despite 3 (incredibly humanitarian) rescue attempts to free her. Cat lodges herself deeper into the abyss each time, and each time grows louder. Cat stops screaming when Adrian comes home, invalidating any attempts at explaining my terror to him.
Wash Cat puke covered bathmat. For the third time.
Saturday, June 30th
Cat is hidden on my black office chair, proceeds to leap off of it when I walk by. This sends my chair careening towards me and hurtling over my cold toes. I scream in agony while Cat watches from the couch, slowly licking her paw. Cat is now trying to make it look like an accident, and I’m looking like I’m un-fucking-touchable. Come at me, Cat.
Ignore cat puke covered blanket out of spite. Adrian, Cat’s favorite person, washes it.
Sunday, July 1st
Woke up with mysterious deep gouge in middle fingers of each hand. Fuck you too, Cat. Fuck you too.
I throw my jeans into the laundry bucket. Jeans then immediately leap out of laundry bucket and begin to run towards me as fast as possible, while I scream like someone whose pants have just come to life and are on the attack. Cat slips out from underneath jeans. Cat stares. I stare. I scream again, Cat swipes at the sole of my foot, severing a blister and ruining my fucking life forever.
Heard Cat puking somewhere in the house, don’t even care to fucking find it anymore. I just want it all to end.
If Cat and I keep this up, I will be dead by Independence Day.
Who/what has stalked you? A pet, a food, a rug, a child? Also, fuck this cat. Seriously.– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Chooplah: “I grew up on her, too. My mom used to say I couldn’t watch threes company and I always thought it was an evil show for some reason, until one day when I was in my 20s and watched an episode and realized it was benign. I called her and asked her why I couldn’t watch it growing up and she said “oh, it’s just a crap show. I wanted to fill you with Carol Burnett, not that shit.”