I’m a proud cat owner. I only have one, so I’m not yet in the “Creepy Cat Lady” category. Although I have been shopping for a house on a hill, been taking knitting lessons and plan to stop wearing a bra completely soon enough. And if I could somehow bottle and sell the Cat Urine scent for candles, potpourri and other household items, I could really get a move on this spinster title once and for all!
Anywho, I started dating someone who, unfortunately, was allergic to cats, which I did not know. I’m not one of those proud animal owners who has her cat’s face as a screensaver and wears cat fur gloves, hats and meows instead of laughs.
At least, not yet.
Fast forward to the night he decided to stay at my place for the first time. Once again, I had failed to mention I had a cat. I also should mention we had been out for some cocktails and I was feeling particularly giddy. As he was drifting off to sleep, he started sneezing and was having issues breathing.
“Do you have a cat?” he asked in the same tone he may have asked if I had child pornography.
“I’m really allergic” was his doom-filled answer.
I tried to think back to the last time I had done any sort of cleaning in my house and lost count after 2006. “Are you going to be alright?” I asked him. “I have some Benadryl if you need it.”
“No, I should be fine,” he responded in between gasps of air.
Now, there are two types of people in this world: People who like cats and people who don’t. I once asked a friend of mine if he was allergic to cats. His response was, “I wish I was so that I had an excuse to hate them so much.” I laugh often at this remark, as it very eloquently spoke what is in many cat haters’ hearts.
As I mentioned before, I had been drinking. As we laid there drifting off to sleep I became incredibly slap happy at the situation. I then began to channel Dennis from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (D.E.N.N.I.S. system), saying in a sardonic voice, “You’re going to die tonight!” and then laughing at myself hysterically. I probably said this about 5 times to him. Each time getting a little closer to his face, hoping to get a different response other than the vacant stare of disbelief.
He did not find my joke funny. He spent most of the night wheezing, itching and trying to find respite from the grip on his lungs. My cat is a bit of a diva, but what she lacks in charm she more than makes up for in fur. She’s a furry beast!
And she also sleeps with me in my bed. In the same spot he was occupying.
In the morning he was quite crabby, which I guess I can understand seeing as he probably only got a few minutes of real restful sleep. He accused me of trying to kill him and was not very keen on spending any time at my house.
Like, ever again.
He actually left his jacket at my house to walk home in pretty chilly temperatures and informed me I could keep the jacket, as after being in my house it was “tainted.” I think he also planned to burn every stitch of clothing he had been wearing.
Regardless, it was a pretty sweet jacket. Consolation prize!
As you may have already guessed, things didn’t work out. To this day, sometimes for fun I call him from pay phones and leave “You’re going to die tonight” on his voicemail just for shits and giggles.
Just a guess that he likely knows it’s me.
Don’t tell someone you’re going to kill them when they are having problems breathing as a result of your roommate (aka, your cat). It’s creepy.
Why don’t I learn?