A New Chapter

April 6, 2016 — 29 Comments

Dear diareaders,

Welcome to a new chapter of The Reluctant Cat Owner’s Journal.

Due to a recent discovery, I feel that the tone and content of this website should change. So what are the changes?

  • The heading has been changed from “Dear Journal” to “Dear diareaders.” Diareaders is a portmanteau for “diary readers.” I chose it because I couldn’t do anything with “Journal Readers,” and “diareaders” made me giggle.
  • The tone of the content will be less abrasive towards any of my five cats (except maybe Elvis) and more supportive.

So why the change?

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Dear Journal,

I recently read an article that shared eight things I should never do to my cat. While it was a pleasant reminder of general cat care, we live in an age where companies have to label hair dryers with warnings so people won’t fry themselves with it in a running shower. Because common sense doesn’t seem to equate common practice, I feet it’s necessary to share eight more things that people should never do to their cats.

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Your Cat is Family

March 31, 2016 — 22 Comments

Dear Journal,

Nine years ago, Mr. Tiddles was left behind when his owners moved away. As a matter of fact, the rumor was that when his former owners left, the cat was stranded inside the empty apartment with nothing more than an open bag of cat food. When the new tenant moved in, she kicked him out. With nowhere to go, Mr. Tiddles wasted his days roaming the apartment complex’s parking lot, crouching under parked cars for shade and lapping up the dirty water that collected in the potholes.

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Print Book vs. E-Book

March 28, 2016 — 4 Comments

Dear Journal,

I recently read an article on the Online Bible of Gratuitous Opinion (or what others call The Huffington Post) about why “print books are better than E-books.” I’ve noticed this subject has been given attention on other heavy-traffic sites such as Mental Floss, Business Insider, and The Washington Post as well, and I wonder to myself every time, “Why should we care?”

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Dear Journal,

I can’t fit into my pants, so I’m dieting again. It’s either that or buying fat clothes, and I can’t afford a new wardrobe.

Now that I have committed to cutting sugar and carbs from my plate and replaced it with a high fiber/water/protein/artificial sweeter diet, you know what that means, right? It’s not safe to fart.

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Dear Journal,

It may be unbelievable, but I once enjoyed having company. Years ago, it wasn’t uncommon for me to host an impromptu dinner gathering or welcome unannounced company into my home to share a bottle of wine. It was easy because my home was in a constant state of cleanliness and order. But then cats happened.

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Reviewing Cat Products

March 7, 2016 — 16 Comments

Dear Journal,

If you want to know what it feels like to diarrhea money, own a cat. For the care, health, safety, and entertainment of an ungrateful feline, your wallet will have to spread open more than your mom’s vagina. And much like your mom’s vagina, it’ll make you double over with cramps and moans. Your face will flush and a cold sweat will spread over your brow as dollar bills spew forth, dousing the pet store cash register with money you could have spent on that Autoblow2 you’ve had your eye on for 6 months.

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There Goes the Gayborhood

February 10, 2016 — 5 Comments

Dear Journal,

I’m assuming the process of moving is a bigger pain in the ass than having a prostate exam with sandpaper gloves worn by Dr. Jackhammer during a hemorrhoid flare-up. Closing on the house you own at the same time as closing on the one you are buying requires the alignment of Venus and Saturn during a full moon while sacrificing a virgin midget to the Gods of the Republican party, and since all the midgets I know are immoral whores, the home closings have been pushed to an undetermined date because the buyer’s mortgage company decided to order the appraisal shortly before our already-scheduled-months-ago closing date.

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Dear Journal,

“Welcome to my home. Please don’t judge the uncleanliness as I stopped giving a shit two weeks ago.” That was my verbatim greeting to the young man on my porch, bearing a name tag that introduced him as ‘Tyler.’ He laughed and shook my hand. That wasn’t supposed to be funny.

The moving company sent him to provide an estimate for packing services. When he asked, “Do you mind if I look around in your cabinets and drawers,” I said, “No problem. I already stashed the dildos.” He didn’t laugh. That was supposed to be funny.

As the tour of my home lead into the bedroom, I was embarrassed to discover that I left a scattered pile of waded, used tissues on the floor at my bedside.  As I caught him shooting an awkward glance at the mess, I remember thinking, ‘He probably regrets shaking my hand right now.’

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Dear Journal,

Shortly after finally coming to terms with the latest proof of our decline as a civilized society (i.e. the comically inevitable Sarah Palin endorsement of Donald Trump), the Internet replaced it with another aggressive story. Without warning, it held me down and raped me with the news of a 20-year-old Norwegian by the name of Nano who believes she was born as a cat in a human’s body. Despite my constant protest, the Internet shoved it into my Facebook news feed, my email, my news websites, and any other hole into which it could force itself. Since it wouldn’t take “no” for an answer when taunting me salaciously with, “hey baby, you wanna see something fucked up” and “you know you like reading shit like this,” headlines, I decided to relax and give in to my assailant so it could blow its story inside of me and go bother someone else.

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Kitten in a Drawer

January 28, 2016 — 22 Comments

Dear Journal,

So this happened:

Zoe

I understand if your brain is incapable of processing the oddity pictured, so let me explain. That is my deaf cat, Zoe. She has poor motor skills due to a mild case of cerebellar hypoplasia. Somehow she is face-up, tightly crammed into a bathroom drawer.

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Of the 13,970 unique visitors to The Reluctant Cat Owner’s Journal in 2015 that generated 26,726 page views (as of December 28, 2015 at 1:30 pm Central), 1,965 found me via search engine (e.g. Google, Yahoo, Bing, etc.). Since my website platform tattles provides me with the search terms you used to find me, I have learned that y’all are some sick mother fuckers. Of course, this shouldn’t be surprising since 2014 brought me degenerates looking for “satans anus banana” and “pepper suppository burn my ass.”

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I Have Sampled Hell

December 14, 2015 — 37 Comments

Dear Journal,

You will never truly fathom the length of an hour until you’re trapped in a carful of cooped cats. I should know. In its first week on the market, our home had five showings, and prior to each weekday appointment, I have single-handedly caged and packed four hateful cats in my car so that we can squat at a nearby Walgreens parking lot while a potential buyer judges our home.

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To The Buyer Of My Home

December 7, 2015 — 33 Comments

Dear Journal,

I will be asking my realtor to post the following letter to our home description. What do you think?

Dear Potential Buyer,

My husband and I would like to thank you for your interest in purchasing our home. I promise that if you look beyond the ragged cat furniture and litter boxes, you will discover a beautiful and well-maintained residence that was once featured in The Commercial Appeal’s Real Estate section (because they ran out of nicer homes).

It hasn’t been easy. The moment we decided to market our home, my once-domesticated compulsive cleaning habit became unbridled. This relapse has frustrated my husband and caused the manufacturer of my generic Xanax to re-align their figures for supply and demand. I crawl in bed exhausted every night from either scrubbing the grout of the kitchen/bathroom tiles with a toothbrush, sweeping the house after finding just a speck in the hallway, or wiping all baseboard corners with a damp Q-tip. But the burden is worth it so that we can buy a home with an extra five hundred square feet for the cats to destroy.

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One of the most commonly known facts about cats is that they are drawn to Christmas trees like Mexicans to an American border. A decorated tree may be a symbol of the holidays to you and me, but ask any feline what they see, and they’ll tell you, “meow” (because they don’t speak English). Every holiday season, my cats swarm the Christmas tree, and by New Years Day, there are at least three dozen ornament casualties by the time I drag it back into the attic (the tree; not the cat).

This year, though, Christmas in my home will be festive, Goddamnit. I am determined to have a fully decorated tree in my living room between the day after Thanksgiving through Christmas day. The cats will not fuss with the dangling ornaments or get tangled in the Christmas lights. And how will I accomplish this? Allow me to share my master plan, a plan that will keep my cats out of the Christmas tree. 

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