My kitten loves me so much and I can barely stand it, you guys. He’s all over me now. Such a marked difference to the feral kitty we took in about 4 weeks ago. Last month he wouldn’t come out of the drawer he climbed into and now he licks my nose every night we go to bed. He’s the most talkative cat I’ve ever met and comes when I call him for bed. He doesn’t come for Turner. I consider this the biggest win, of course.

I truly believe he is a little bit happy to no longer be on the streets, and very happy he no longer lives on Coney Island, which is maybe the most depressing neighborhood I’ve ever visited. I had always imagined cotton candy clouds and rides full of screaming, happy children because of the books I read as a kid. When I visited this summer I saw stores closed down everywhere and streets that were seemingly nearly paved with actual trash.

I mean, I love my cat. Duh. But my deep, bewildering love for her is a private affair, and moreover it creates problems in my everyday life. Problems that I chose to have, apparently, when I purchased this animal, which makes me wonder exactly what kind of idiot I am.

I Fucking Hate My Cat

This article is especially pertinent in my life right now as the fucking cat keeps pissing on the couch, and sheets on the couch, and my paint by numbers box on the couch, and my yarn on the couch, because — evidently — she is upset about the kitten.