Charlie, the cat that punk, peed on the carpet today again. This time he did it without any remorse whatsoever. I was hearing some dripping sound, turned around, and there he is. Looking straight at me with his innocent face, while just peeing right then right there next to my bed. “Aarrghh—con mèo mày” I say, pick him up and rush him to the litter box, and clean up the mess, but the odor remains. No good.
So, during lunch, I went to the pet store, walked to the aisle of useless crap the pet industry wants us to buy (can you guys imagine that there is a bark-translation-device that displays what the dog says?). I bought a large blacklight and some hm... anti-pee-enzymes. Charlie, how can you do this to me? Never mind the fortune I am spending on you, never mind that you and Annie have already destroyed my futon, never mind that I spent $150 for a single veterinarian visit last time when you and Annie played and then got physically hurt. As I prepare for an evening of San Jose CSI detective work tonight to trace urine stains, I wonder… do I own two cats, or do two cats own me?
It is time, it is time to..... ăn thịt mèo. I always wanted to be more Vietnamese anyhow.