Fuck your cat.

I don’t care about him/her/it.

It is without fail that everytime I enter the checkout line at the grocery store with some article of pet supplies in my shopping cart, that the person operating the cash register must ask:

“What kind of dog/cat do you have?”

And then, also without fail, launch into some mindless diatribe about their pet before I can even answer!!!  WTF?!!

I don’t give a shit about your mangy little beast! ESPECIALLY if it’s a cat! I hate cats. By and large they are all assholes and are completely disassociative unless they need something from you. Then they are loud and obnoxious and won’t hesitate to slice your shit up if it so pleases them or they think it will further their quest to eat tuna.

Listen here underpaid overworked grocery line clerk. I understand that you are desperate for diversion after a 15 hour day dealing with human hogs giving you shit cause they didn’t know the 30 cent coupon for lean pockets expired yesterday. I can see how that might create an impulse to see my cat litter and think

” he has a cat…..i have a cat!!! maybe he’s normal like ME!?!”

Trust me I am not. And you might has well have a MUTE button on your chubby chin when you start telling me about Sir Pussmunch or whatever other ridiculous name your animal has. My brain immediately dials out the sound of your monologue about how your cat/dog loves this/that and blahhhhhblahhhhblahhhhhhhh.

It becomes white noise to thoughts of what the backlash would be if I randomly punched the old lady behind me in the throat as a karmic FUCKYOU for Grandma Liverspot giving me lip in the wendy’s lunch line the week before. I don’t dial back in until I hear the words

” your total is..”

I slide my card and leave resisting the urge to tell them what I really think of their cat.  It could get lodged in the oven on thanksgiving day for all I care. So seriously lady….FUCK YOUR CAT.


3 Responses to “Fuck your cat.”

  1. praline! Says:

    Don’t you have a cat? I’ve seen you with kitty litter before. My cats are SO PRECIOUS and they have the most PRECIOUS LITTLE NAMES. See, I have a white one named Montecore, because Montecore was the white tiger that ate Sigfreid and Roy. I spelled that wrong but I don’t care. Montecore’s original name was Zyklon-B, which I had to change when a nice jewish girl asked me what the cat’s name was.

  2. Bill McFuckpants Says:

    If it wasn’t pet food it’d be some other fucking thing. I can’t buy sushi without being asked “So, you like sushi?”

    Quell the retort a moment. I want you to think about that. Not just the idio-douchacrity of the comment, but upon any possible reply which could satisfy the requester.

    I guess it could be naer Halloween and maybe I’m building an elaborate haunted house for my fish.

    Or maybe I’m just nostalgiac for the scent of a $4 hooker.

    But God help me if I just say “Why yes. I *do* like sushi.” Because then we get:


    So you rang up sushi for a guy and had to ask if he liked sushi, and then WERE SURPRISED BY THE FUCKING ANSWER.

    Yet if I purchase ski masks, flashlights, duct tape, and spray paint in the middle of the night with cash, well then all dialogue ceases. There’s a moral in there somewhere.

  3. Haha! Well put, man. Well put!

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