Syringes _fcksavedurl=Kit fulfills the stereotypical cat pattern all you feline owners out there have grown familiar with. As a kitten, he was amusing, animated, and playful. He allowed other people to interact with him, feigning interest in toy mice, string, and other complex manufacturing marvels of mankind. Kittens excel in deceiving idiots like me into falsely believing they'll somehow always possess their playful and happy personality, despite being proven wrong time and time again.
Kitten deception is one of those things where you say, "well the last 38 cats have really sucked balls and were utterly soul-crushing failures, but gee golly I just know this one is going to turn out awesome!" The crazy cat ladies who live under bridges and own several thousand cats don't continue adopting them because of their magnetic personalities, they do so under the false assumption if they play the odds long enough, they'll eventually find a cat who isn't completely horrible. They eventually suffocate to death under a dense pile of hissing, angry wads of fur, grasping a final breath to mutter, "just one... more... cat..."
Once Kit turned two, he abandoned his "lets not be an asshole to my owners" mentality and shifted into a new mind frame, one encouraging him to do whatever he wants to piss me off because, hey, animal cruelty is illegal and I'll probably get in trouble if somebody catches me decapitating him! He constantly meows, claws, and shrieks to be let outside at random hours, so he may attempt to wipe out entire races of small woodland creatures.
Upon returning home for the night, he'll deliver a gift of bloody, leaky gut parts from whatever creature he chose to target that particular hour. These gut parts will be carefully separated and strewn across our garage floor, often forming a complex and impenetrable bond with the concrete that can only be removed using high powered government lasers. One simply cannot express the sheer joy experienced waking up each morning, greeted by a fresh new exploded carcass coating the floor. Sometimes I like to pretend the bloated, gummy, darkened tubes of congealed blood are really confetti, and my cat is throwing me a surprise party! Hooray, what a surprise! I've always dreamed of the day I'd see two disembodied rabbit eyeballs staring blankly at me from beneath my car! Thanks a lot, cat!
Not content on providing limitless gut parts and exploded birds skeletons, Kit has recently begun showering me with even more fabulous gifts, this time in the form of cat urine and in the location of wherever there's carpet. Now some of you more fortunate people out there may not own a cat due to allergies or housing restrictions or a brain capable of providing basic common sense, so let me share a little fact with you:
There is absolutely no way ever to cover up, remove, or disguise cat urine as something which doesn't instantly make you want to kill yourself.
A million companies have realized this, springing up and offering a billion products which swear they're so effective at removing cat piss that they'll actually travel through time and jump into your cat's penis before he has a chance to soil the carpet. As you may expect, none of these products work, and at best they'll end up permanently staining your carpet so you'll have no choice but to replace it and the padding. I should relabel and sell bottles of black spray paint, claiming it's pet urine cleaner. People would eventually all thank me for saving them both wasted hope and time.
Whoo, _fcksavedurl=A product named "Nature's Miracle" is the best solution to animal urine stains, which is kind of like claiming Advil is the best solution to AIDS. When I first noticed the product was named "Nature's Miracle," I was hoping the bottle was full of poison which would murder my cat and thereby provide a true miracle. While it doesn't technically kill your pets, it does somewhat temporarily cover up the odor of cat urine with the odor of something designed specifically to cover up cat urine.
To provide an analogy, the sensation of smelling cat piss is like simultaneously driving thousands of roofing nails into your face. Spraying Nature's Miracle onto patches of carpet infected with catpee.exe is the equivalent of smashing a couple bricks into the side of your head. Yeah, it still sucks and you're still aware something very terrible happened in the immediate area, but maybe you can at least trick guests into believing the stench is coming from something else, like medical waste flowing through your water pipes. Maybe if I spray this stuff all over his penis, it will miraculously disappear and his bodily waste will only be excreted via SMS messages.
Emma Stone was the most paranoid person I had ever met. In private she wore a full suit of medieval armor at all times, visor down.
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