Forgive but Never Forget

Those who know me (or who have read this blog for a long time) know that my cat, John Brown, is a giant asshole. He pees on furniture, breaks into the refrigerator to steal food, and relentlessly humps my smaller, sicker cat, Mulder. JB is about 12 now, and I keep hoping he’ll mellow with age, but so far, nada. Here’s what that fucker did to me this weekend.

I had to get up at the crack of dawn on Sunday to attend Sharona’s bridal shower/brunch. I managed to get myself out of bed, showered and even looking pretty despite the early hour, and got myself out the door with a few minutes to spare. I got an F-train right away despite the fact that the F-train wasn’t even supposed to be running, with a choice of seats, and sat down, pleased with how smoothly my morning was going.

After a few stops, I noticed that my beloved Kenneth Cole bag, the one I use for work that was, at that moment, on the floor resting against my bare leg, was wet. Really, really wet. I picked up the bag, sniffed, and got an overwhelming whiff of cat pee. I weighed my options, and decided against turning around and going home, thereby missing a good chunk of the soiree.

I got off at the Delancey stop, because it’s in my old neighborhood and I know where everything is. I headed straight for the Duane Reade, where I purchased Febreeze, Clorox wipes, and procured a large plastic bag. After that, I headed into the Washington Mutual vestibule next door, and removed each item from my bag, gave it a wipe, and placed it in the Duane Reade bag. Luckily, everything was salvageable, save for my journal. Once everything was wiped, I gave it a spritz of Febreeze, and then gave myself one, especially on the side where I’d carried the bag before realizing it was drenched in cat urine. Then I went next door to Rainbow, where I bought a giant pink monstrosity of a faux-leather bag for $10. It’s actually pretty cute. I did have to toss the Kenneth Cole bag, though. It was old and starting to show signs of wear anyway, plus it reeked of cat pee.

I arrived only 15 minutes late to the shower, with an amusing story to tell. When I arrived home later, I made myself comfy on the couch. John Brown immediately jumped onto my lap, and started rubbing his annoying little head on my hand, trying to get me into pet him.

“Fuck you,” I said. And then I started petting him, while he purred. Because that’s how it goes in my house. That cat has no idea how lucky he is to still have a roof over his head.