(I just thought of the interesting search results the title might produce. Eeeew. By the way – do NOT Google images for that phrase.)
A big lump on my butt cheek.
A bump on my rump.
A pain in the ass. P.I.T.A. for short.
You might be thinking: ‘Is she having kinky sex again? Did things get a bit wild?’
And it’s not painful, anymore.
I was once an unruly teenager who did things like sneak out of the house in the middle of the night. On one such occasion, while sneaking out on a dark, rainy night – in flip-flops because I’m super smart like that – I slipped on the wet CONCRETE stairs. My right foot went out from under me and the sharp edge of the CONCRETE step met the soft top of my butt cheek. The pain was excruciating. I crawled to the garage to get out of the rain, because I couldn’t walk.
I am owned by a cat. Those of you who know me well know Checkers, The Kibble Wrangler, is my world.
Yes, I am a crazy cat lady.
Love me, love the cat. It’s a package deal.
Now that we’ve established that, realize that she can do little wrong. This will become evident as this story progresses.
My sister, Chickenbone, used to always ask, “How can you have a cat? There’s that whole stinky litter box that needs to be scooped all the time, there’s the barfing on the carpet. All that’s just gross.” (I retorted with some quip about children and diapers. I do not have kids. She now has a cat/litter box and a kid/diapers. I win.)
Yes, kitty poop is gross, as is the occasional cling-on (poo stuck to butt fur), but it’s so inconsequential when compared to the unconditional love she gives.
MY. WORLD., People.
This post is in honor of her approaching 16th birthday. Happy Birthday Checkers, from the interwebs!(Yup, she gets gifts and special treats on her birthday just like I do. Mine is coming before hers. Feel free to send gifts to both of us. My email address in on my About page. She wants a big cat tree. I want a tropical vacation.)
On with the cat-ass-trophe… But, wait! There’s more…
Yes, I did say my “first” brush with the law. (Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Aren’t you glad your kid has a blog? That’s read internationally? (A shout out to my three foreign readers!) Cool stuff, huh?)
Huh, I thought they only came in fuzzy.
When I was around 13 I moved from the tranquility of mildly conservative Santa Barbara to the Dead-head, surfer town of Capitola to live with my father full time.
I went from living with a very strict parent in a conservative environment to living with a very “laissez faire” parent in a stoner town.
It’s no wonder I score polar opposites on personality tests – on the same test, or I score dead center.
Just imagine what it’s like inside my head…
You, wondering for a moment what it’s like inside my head: *thinking… imagining… letting out small scream*
But I digress…
Capitola was an awesome beach town to grow up in as a young teenager because you could walk everywhere. This was very helpful for someone who didn’t have a car. It made it MUCH easier to get into trouble.
Wonder what your kids are doing while you’re at work or not with them? Keep reading because my parents NEVER knew about this (until now)….But, wait! There’s more…