South City Confessions: I hate my cat, but she keeps remembering where we live

Cabernet is a bitch, but I'm too weak to toss her to the street.

There comes a time in a man’s life when he must cut the shit, and revert back to the earliest ancestors and their decision-making ability. Even the weakest caveman would have took my old bitchy white cat “to the train station,” as they say on Yellowstone, by now. She wouldn’t have 99 lives but death one if I was more ruthless with my “fucks to give” in regards to pets.

She was a mistake adoptee after all. Rachel was supposed to go get A CAT, not TWO CATS. The fiery Sicilian midget brought home Frank and the white furball of doom at the same time, testing the patience of her husband. Look, I let a lot of my patience go with the Cardinals and Blues, but that doesn’t mean it’s in high supply. If I could hire a hitman to take her out like that one company took out John Dutton, all would be well.

But I can’t do that, because I made a promise with myself at birth not to be a bad guy. In actuality, that pact was made when I married my wife, who would stuff three mansions with stray rescues from the APA if the square footage was there. Some things you dream about, and everything else stays in reality.

Since we adopted her twelve years ago, the little bitch has peed on expensive shoes, coats, furniture, and just about anywhere else she can squat her furry white ass. Watching a cat pee is like watching a dog shit; they stop, squat, squint, and release. She’s peed on stuff while looking at us. There are bad guys in movies who deserve a less worse fate.

It makes you wonder if there are bad pet assassins out there. Maybe they aren’t killed, but sent to a large piece of land with winter-protected homes for erratic pets who feel the need to break the trust with their owners. They don’t become strays, but are given a whole lot of land and shoes to pee all over.

There is a trust between pet owners and pets. Don’t destroy the sanctuary that I brought you into from the wilderness of a kennel at some adoption facility, and you’ll continue to be fed and loved. If they continue to destroy that trust, the best option is cutting ties.

By now, most people would have taken her back or to that fateful train station in the sky. I’m too weak or nice to take that step. But I’ll tell you, sitting down on my man cave couch this morning only to pick up the strong scent of cat piss was right next to awful for wakeup calls.

If I wasn’t as weak, she’d be gone. Any takers? Anyone with a big chunk of land not being used with wild coyotes and wolves around? Drop me a note, and have a nice Saturday.