Get Offa My Foot, You Little Freak

Well, it looks like what I had planned to post will be delayed a couple days. No worries. I hope to have it up by Monday (or maybe Tuesday).

In the meantime I want to address a pretty serious topic. Sexual harassment. Over the years there have been a number of famous cases of sexual harassment in the media from Clarence Thomas to Bill Clinton and the workplace environment has been drastically changed by the introduction of sexual harassment policies and laws. The public's awareness of this issue has also changed the way that victims are treated making it easier for those hurt by these acts to seek justice and support. However, what if you're being sexually harassed and/or battered by your own cat? This is my difficult story.

Our cat Mugsy died last year. During his life he did his best to be the tiniest diplomat in the world by working tirelessly to unite our feline-dominated household. His work in struggling to break down the long-standing sectarian turf battle between Molly, who's territory is the Second Floor (with her headquarters located in our bedroom), and Morticia who runs the First Floor from her vantage point of whatever chair she decides is most advantageous at the moment (usually this depends on which seat has been recently vacated by a human's bum and is now quite warm and toasty). This conflict has been raging for years now and although he never quite got them to sit down and hash out a cease-fire (or a cease-hissing/spitting at each other), his very presence bestowed a certain level of calm and dare I say civility amongst the rest of the furry little assholes. When Oliver was introduced to the household 5 years ago, it was Mugsy who tried to help him ease into what can be a potentially highly volatile dynamic.

As Mugsy's health declined and he became less active in the day-to-day political negotiations, the tension between the First Floor and the Second Floor factions escalated. After all, the food and water as well as the access to the basement (where we keep the piddle-palaces) are all located in what clearly is Morticia's territory. This area had long since been designated as a DMZ but it was a very fleeting and tense peace. Since his death, clashes in this region have intensified including minor terrorist attacks being observed in the form of unprovoked tail swatting and barfing directly into the water dish. Sources close to the Morticia camp indicate that Oliver may be a not-so-secret sympathizer with the Second Floor tribe. Mugsy would never have stood for such derision. In his mind, Oliver was the clear choice for successor to his legacy of peace-keeping. But this, sadly, does not seem to be what Oliver wants. The number of perceived infractions from Molly on Morticia's turf have gone up significantly since Mugsy's passing.

My praise of Mugsy and his own death have made the decision to share with all of you the dark side of his personality all the more difficult. I can no longer overlook his flaws. I don't know how to sugarcoat this so I'm just going to come out and say it: Mugsy was a catnip spray addict and serial foot rapist. There, now the truth can be told. I loved Mugsy and maybe that's why I never confronted him and told him how his actions made me feel. It made me feel dirty and it kinda tickled. This is how these "espisodes" went down. When I went to bed, Mugsy was usually curled into a little ball near the footboard. I would slip under the covers which would disturb his slumber and he'd walk around the bed for a couple of minutes before settling back down near my feet (usually using them as a pillow). And then, not every night but often enough, he'd wake up and with a weird primal cry he'd mount my foot and proceed to bang the fucking shit out of it. And this from a dude with absolutely no balls at all. This would wake me up and it may take a couple of seconds for me to process that my cat is furiously humping my foot before I'd shove him off me. This is where it turns really ugly. He didn't care at all. He'd just get right back on that horse and continue to rape my poor tootsies. Granted, the Wiff and I were enablers on the catnip spray front but that does not excuse his abuse of it.


Please excuse the shitty quality of the above video. It was taken by a crappy camera in low light conditions. It is basically my attempt to capture Mugsy playing on a chair while he was stoned out of his gourd. He had rolled himself off the chair a couple times previous to my video taping him and I was glad to capture his most embarrasing and from the sound of it, most unprepared-for tumble. He sobered up after this one and pretended that he meant to do it all along. I think he bruised his pride a bit.

Since I have forgiven Mugsy for this transgression (and subsequently outed him in this public forum) and he has passed on to meet his maker (or more specifically to reside in ashy form on our mantel in a wooden box), I assumed that the abuses would stop. But a disturbing trend has begun and I refuse to play the role of victim again. Oliver has been sexually harassing me. This started with "innocent" arm licking. He would come over when I was lying down and lick the inside of my arm while "making biscuits". I thought it was cute if not someone painful (the dude can really get into it and if we haven't clipped his nails recently his little talons can fuck your shit up) and relatively harmless. But lately he's been trying to shove his ass in my face just before and right after the arm licking thing. And last night I noticed that the little pervert had a fucking boner. Seriously. He did the licking thing, stood up, swung his butt around and into my grill and then sat down with his legs open. And there, standing at attention like a fucking evil gum stimulator from hell was his frickin' cat wang. "Oh DUUUUDE!" I exclaimed and tossed him off (ooh, poor choice of words..) the bed. "That's it," I said. "I'm filing a complaint."

I have not yet been able to find a proper authoritative source to whom I can submit my complaint. Would it be the SPCA perhaps? Would they offer some relief from the onslaught of cat dong that Oliver is trying to rub on me? Can they tell him to stop trying to shove his goddamn asshole in my face? Is there some recourse I can take? I'm just saying for the record that I will not stand for being sexually battered by my male cats anymore. This shit ends now.