6:30 | I’m Eating With Your Cat
November 13, 2011 § Leave a comment
And we’re both only eating because we’re bored. I can tell that he’s bored a lot, too. Jesus fuck, your cat is going to die of fat, just like 67% of the people in this horrible state.
I came back here because you’re getting married.
Re-married. Married again. Do-over. Another shot.
I’m not here for your wedding, though. You and your extremely pleasant, wears-the-pants, list-making fiance are headed to an island where you’ll dress in the suit she picked out for you and you’ll feast on pigs and coconuts and probably go snorkeling. Enjoy the fuck out of that, because I’ll be back here watching your cat get food automatically dispensed in his bowl twice a day, which seem to be the only two times a day he gets up. Jail was like that, too. Meal time, mail time, and The Price Is Right were the only reasons to get out of bed.
Does your cat watch any television? I fucking forgot to ask you.
You people have a lot of food in your house in this suburb. You’ve got the real deal, name-brand shit. I’m stuffing Doritos in my face right now and eying up what you told me last night was your “dessert freezer”. I’ve counted 4 refrigerators and 2 freezers in your new house, and you have a television in every room. I’m pretty sure I know what your cat and I are going to be doing for the next 11 days.