Cats are assholes. But you probably knew that.

I have a little tribe living in my house who are commonly referred to as the gang of dicks, or the assholes, or the jerks. From the species felis catus, these four-legged creatures have terrorized my family and destroyed my house. You hear the phrase, “and THAT’s why we can’t have nice things!” My “that” is because I have cats.

Sure, they look cute, sweet and innocent, they’re furry and it’s super adorable when they purr and rub all over you because they’re so happy to see you. But make no mistake, these animals are on this planet to commit pure acts of evil.


Our kitchen trash can is a simple, plastic model one might find at the local Target. It’s a tall, step-on model with a flat lid. It’s the perfect perch for a four-legged a-hole, and, as it is located right next to a window, it is a popular spot in the house for the animal brigade.

It’s also the place where food scraps go to die. And hence, it’s a heavy target for the assholes. Particularly if we throw out a styrofoam pack that once held frozen chicken, and still might have traces of that nasty juice that’s left behind. That is prime takings. If there’s a stray bone in there? OMG.

They start by trying to claw the bag out of the can. If there’s some plastic bag hanging over the lip of the trash can, they get a hold of that, shred the shit out of it, and maybe sometimes they can get something out of the top. Most of the time, they just knock the whole damn thing down. After the first couple of times this happened, I tried to load the trash can down by placing a brick in the bottom, underneath the bag. The shenanigans stopped … for a while. They just started up again within the past couple weeks. I think the cold weather is starting to get to everyone, even though they are indoor cats and seriously do NOT know how good they have it.

Did I mention I also have a dog? A dog who does nothing to stop these jerks. If anything, she reaps the benefits, because while they bat around the small objects they find, she has a full trash buffet. While we’re gone during the day, she stays in her “crate” (also known as a cage. Let’s just call it like it is) and the cats have free reign of the house. We also have a dog walker who comes 2x daily to let the dog out, feed her, take her out to pee, and make sure nothing is amiss. I frequently get texts from her, reporting on whatever activity is happening at the house, and lately, I’ve been getting a LOT of these:

Yes, that is my actual trash.
Yes, that is my actual trash.

So I feel bad for her, because she naturally has to clean up the mess before she lets the dog loose. Our next step is to invest in a heavier, metal can that is harder to get into. Just another reason why cats are assholes: I have to buy an expensive trash can.

But wait. There’s more.

The trash can alone should be enough for me to open my front door and usher them into the (busy) street. Easy, there, just joking. I would never do that to them. They’d probably find their way back here, anyway.

But they have other non-redeeming qualities that makes their assholedom complete. Let’s look at some other issues plaguing my house because of these beasts.


Hair bands, and I’m not talking about the likes of Poison, Motley Crue or even Britny Fox, are useful in keeping one’s long wisps of hair out of one’s face. I frequently use them when I’m going to work out, or when I haven’t washed my hair and it’s getting all greasy. My cat, however, considers them to be his favorite toy and his most coveted object. He knows what drawer in the vanity in which they are kept, and if he hears me open said drawer, he instantly appears. Think about that. He has the smarts to distinguish the sound of a SPECIFIC drawer opening.

I’ve had to buy multi-packs of these things because if I leave them out, they disappear. I guarantee that when we move (hopefully soon!), we will find hundreds of them under the major appliances in the house. He bats them around, carries them in his mouth, and then, most strangely, leaves them in his food and/or water dish. It is not uncommon to find one in the leavings of a bowl of Iams. Lately, he has figured out how to paw open the drawer. Not kidding. The cat can open the damn drawer! And then he just helps himself to however many hair bands he wants. Idiot.

Another of the cats, the brother of the hair band guy, is obsessed with eggs. Particularly, the sound of an egg being cracked. If it’s a hard boiled egg, he almost has a coronary. Despite our attempts to keep them off of surfaces in which we eat, he will leap up onto the kitchen counter to get a front row seat to the cracking of the egg. As the eggshells are discarded in the sink, he tries to paw at them. Is this some sort of primitive throwback to domesticated cats’ days as hunters? Maybe he has some part of his tiny brain that believes he’s on the trail of a bird. Or he’s just a complete freaking weirdo.

My 9-year-old son recently went to a birthday party at an indoor pool, so each of the kids got a pair of cheapo goggles in their goodie bag. Both of the aforementioned cats LOVE these goggles. I don’t know why, but they would seek out the goggles in the house, bring them into the kitchen, and chew the rubber strap. Not even the dog, who ate a Chapstick last night, wanted in on that action. Goggles? Really? We finally just threw them in the trash. Which then the cats probably knocked over and have secreted their treasure away somewhere safe.


My third cat was a mistake. It’s like when you have an “oops” pregnancy when you think you’re done having kids … I had a moment of weakness and decided I wanted a girl cat, and in particular, a little grey cat. Never mind that our last female cat was batshit insane, and we swore never to get another female for that reason. She was listed as free on Craigslist, and it was around Christmas time (Christmas was over, but our tree was still up), and I just … I don’t know what happened. Anyway, she was basically feral, which of course I didn’t realize until a few days after we got her home. Incredibly shy was what I thought at first. Well, it’s two years later and she *sometimes* lets me pet her. It has to be in a specific spot in the house that she has deemed her “safe zone.” She is still terrified of my husband and kids. Great pet, huh?

And she’s not without her quirks, as if total fear of the human race wasn’t enough. She doesn’t drink water, she has to splash it onto the floor with her paw and THEN lick it up. So I am pretty willing to bet that under the floor where the water dish is, is just a bunch of mold. The floor is even starting to warp a little bit. We’ve tried switching out the dishes, weighing them down, etc., but she just finds a way to thwart us.

I’m sure there are more examples I could provide, but I’m fairly sure that if you’ve gotten all the way to the end of this post, you have already concluded that cats are assholes anyway. Perhaps you have some of your own. If you don’t, please let this be a precautionary tale. They will ruin your life, cause you to buy expensive contraptions, hide your hair accessories, destroy goggles, and more. Do not be fooled by the cuteness. They want you to let your guard down.


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