I've had a bit of writer's block lately. So, the other day I was picking up 89798709827343 cat toys off the floor in preparation for Sexypants' arrival and it hit me... wow, I completely change my entire house before he comes over. And I never realized how incredibly creepy my condo is until I started getting laid on the reg.
Like, if you know me well enough to have purchased me a present at some point, you've 100% purchased me a cat themed item. Because... I love my cats. If I had to create my own heaven... it would be full of fat, fluffy assed cats, non-addictive Xanax, sauvignon blanc, men's cologne (but none of that f*cking Axe Body Spray shit... have some dignity, guys), duvet covers that are stain-proof (if you catch my drift), and mountains of calorie-free McDonald's french fries. Judge all you want, bitches. It's my heaven and my heaven has McDonald's. And also healthy Diet Coke... that spurts out of Chris Hemsworth's belly button.
I digress.
Anyway, I really like cats. I always have. When we were little, my sister would always bring home drawings of our family and Jesus; and I brought home a picture of a cat every f*cking time. Because cats are like my soulmates. They don't drool, they clean their own asses, they're quiet, and they shit in a box from day one. They're the best animals because they're just like me. Except I don't shit in a box... Or, at least I haven't yet. #neversaynever #tequila
TO THE POINT, KIRA. The point is that people buy me a lot of cat shit. And I love every single cat item I've ever received as a gift. But, at some point, the fun gift obsession becomes slightly creepy and sexually prophylactic. Remember the movie Dodgeball where Vince Vaughn goes to whatsherface's house and it's covered in unicorn figurines and posters?
That's my house... but replace unicorns with cats. And honestly, unicorns are probably more socially acceptable.
So, every single time Sexypants comes over, I hide like half my cat shit. Because... sex. And some of my cat art/prints have those eyes that like follow you and stare at you while you're getting it on. And no one likes Puffy watching them get it on. Here's a list of the things that get hidden, or as I like to call it, "temporarily relocated".
1. At least two of the five cat posters/art pieces in my room. Usually this includes the beautifully custom commissioned portrait of Puffy & Chunk. But the animated giant Puffy & Chunk posters stay.
2. Any items of cat clothing. Except socks. These seem more acceptable for some reason. Cat pants, skirts, shirts, and hats get put away in the closet. I try not to bust out any cat themed clothing until at least the 27th date; as a general rule.
3. Half of the bucket of cat toys. Puffy & Chunk like to live in a very stimulating environment. But they don't need 98709872343 toy options on the nights I'm getting laid.
4. At least five of the seven empty shoe boxes lying around for them to lounge, nap, and snug in. Empty shoe boxes generally belong to Lego connoisseurs and homeless people.
5. Cat soaps. Yes, I have cat soaps. And yes, they are awesome. But someone doesn't want to go clean up after sexytime with a cat shaped bar o' soap.
6. Items of clothing for the cats to actually wear. I think this one is pretty self explanatory. Cat suspenders are generally never considered ok by the opposite sex.
7. The giant steel mixing bowl that I leave on the floor for Chunk to nap in.
Some people are like "be who you are, Kira". Listen, I am being who I am, just a little less openly creepy and obsessed. And I feel like cat stuff overwhelming my condo is less creepy than like... snakes in cages all over. Or Harry Potter paraphernalia. Or like 8790983745 Cabbage Patch dolls. Or One Direction wallpaper (although, I've admittedly considered this... pre 1D breakup).
And it's not my fault people think I'm amazing and like to send me cat presents.
KEEP 'EM COMING.
XOXO,
K
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