Cat Pissing Husbands

  I have a problem. And I’m not quite sure how to approach it at this point. See, baring domestic violence, I’m about to go fucking mad.

It’s about one bite, one sip and it’s about one dish.

One bite left in the ice cream carton. One sip left in crystal light pitcher. One bowl left in the sink.

Sounds like a little problem, huh? Well, its not. It’s a big problem and it’s driving me crazy and there is nothing I can do. I feel there might be a little passive aggressive aggression here, like when Cleo would pick out my favorite pair of jeans to piss on if I had been gone too long.

I can’t tell you how many times, I was sitting in my car, late to wherever it was I had to be, only to smell cat piss and have to go back and change. Cat piss is one of those scents that doesn’t ever really wash out or off. And it worked. Cleo got a ton of attention out of it. Usually it would start with a “CLEO!!!!!” as I ran back inside to change. She would just sit there, under the bed, out of arms reach (she was a very smart cat), content that I was back in the house and I swear I could see her smile, just a little.

Now, Cleo was the best cat in the world, but she didn’t have opposable thumbs, a feature that could have enabled her to rule the world. She wasn’t magic (well she was, but in a different way). She didn’t pull my jeans out of the closet with her razor sharp claws. She’s sniff out my jeans on the floor. My jeans were always on the floor. Most of my clothes were on the floor or in my handbag. I was single and I could do whatever I wanted with my stuff. My shoes were always by the door or artistically stepped out of as I walked down my hall. There were days that I would completely undress as I walked in the door, leaving my entire outfit on the floor one piece at a time. Those were the days, man. Being able to find my shoes or bra because it was in the exact place I left it.

But as I’ve married and live with someone who is driven nuts by this habit, I have changed, stifled my natural tendencies to organize my belongings horizontally. Why? Because I love my partner and want to make his life as comfortable as possible so we can live in communal bliss.

  So when I asked said partner to finish off the ice cream so that when I see the container sitting there in the freezer and think that perhaps I might be treated to more than the tiny little bit, and there’s not and I’m sad. You know what he said? He said, “Hmm. Tough.”

What????? Tough? Tough is not smelling the cat piss until you’re at work and your co-workers start wrinkling their noses. Tough is not a response to finish the damn ice cream you perverse knucklehead.

  And the bowl, the bowl! He eats; he takes it into the kitchen and leaves it on or in the sink. Then he starts polishing the shiny surfaces around the sink. WTF? He is compelled by a nasty case of OCD to clean the kitchen counters and metal parts and at the same time he can leave a bowl in the sink. With an empty dishwasher. Why can’t he just stick in the dishwasher? Why? Why do I always find one bowl and one spoon in my sink?

Because, and I’m going to say it, he’s used to his mother doing his dishes.

Argh. I’m going out of my mind and there just so many times I can wish him “kindness and many causes for kindness”* before my head explodes.

He’s gone today and I am tempted to throw my entire unmentionables drawer around the house. Strew bras all over our tree lamps and leave a trail of Vickie’s through the bathroom.

But you know what? It wouldn’t bother him. It wouldn’t register in his brain at all. OCD is his autopilot. He’d just pick it all up and shove it somewhere out of sight and I’d be out of panties. I’d ask him where he’d put it all and he’d have absolutely no memory of picking it up. I’d spend then next hour looking and I’d find everything in the freezer, right next to an empty ice cream container.


*In an attempt to lower my stress level, not flip out at the world and encourage kindness, I’m attempting to stop calling bad drivers and Krauts cows or morons. I’m trying to smile when I want to scowl and I’m wishing people kindness and many causes for kindness rather than telling them they need to get their ass/cart/car/child/dog/bike out of my way before I knock them down. I’m inviting peace and love and kindness into my life and let me tell you, its fucking killing me. Kindness