Ancodia Fails Again

I had started my previous post as a draft, then before I went to complete it all hell broke loose. If you are having a nice holiday, skip this post for later. Really. Trust me. And Merry Christmas.


Butsoanyway.


So I get all of this stuff done and Son-Friend, the cowardly piece of shit that he is, sends a text message to me telling me good night, Merry Christmas, and by the way he lost two of the kittens today; sorry about that.

I go to phone him back, hoping that this is some kind of stupid joke of his. After his jackass girlfriend puts me on white-trash hold (setting the phone down on the table, so that I can listen to their television) for five minutes, he picks up and tells me that no, it is *not* a joke, and he is really sorry, but it was an accident. He was taking them out to bathe them, and two ran away and escaped off his patio.

Well, no fucking shit, say I. Wild cats are like that. Did you try to catch them? No, but he will leave the large cage they were in open with tuna in there and hope they come back.

Stupid-ass motherfucker.

I really wanted to just give up at that point. On everything. I wanted to ask him how in the hell, after all of the time, money, and effort I have put into catching those fucking kittens, could he just decide to do something as marvellously stupid as take them all out at once to bathe? Why do I even *bother* to care, when no one else in the world can even engage their brain for half a minute? Why? Why is most of my time taken up fixing everyone else’s mistakes and covering everyone else’s ass? Why in the hell am I the only person on earth who feels morally responsible enough that if I had just lost someone’s foundling kittens, I would feel that a shoulder-shrug and an “oh, well” just somehow wasn’t enough?

What I said instead was that I had frankly had my fill of talking with him this evening, and that I was hanging up now.

Merry fucking Christmas to you, too.

I thought about going up there to look for them, but I do not think that there is much of a point in the dark. His apartments are in the woods, so by now (seeing as it happened this afternoon, and he was too spineless to tell me until now) they could be *anywhere*. I think the best bet is to put tuna out, hope that they come back, and get a trap from Chrissy as fast as possible and then convince Son-Friend that this actually *IS* all his fault (he has a pretty external locus of control, which really pisses me off sometimes), and that he is MORALLY OBLIGATED to tend the trap daily. I do not see anything else I can do. There is almost no point in even being angry anymore. Or, really, I am so angry that I am not angry anymore. That is a much better description.

I hope that the one black tuxedo that was left is the girl. She was a gentle little cat.

I guess that I will either be able to get them back, or I will not. If I cannot get them back, they will either survive, or they will not. Whichever, I know not to trust Son-Friend again. Ever, with *anything*, which should not be such a news flash to me; that man has oatmeal for brains.

And he offered to save me money by watching Squooshable whilst I was in DC, and was “hurt” when I decided to board Squoosh at Dr Vet’s, because he said he felt as if I do not trust him. Hah! I *KNEW* I made the right choice. His ass is definitely on my list of Clueless Morons To Never Trust from this day forward, a list which seems to be growing all the time. And I am getting the last kitten from him as soon as I can, before he decides to dry her quickly after her bath by sticking her in the microwave, or something.

Stupid motherfucker.

Yes, I *am* angry. I am REALLY angry. There are not words adequate to convey how very angry I really am. And there is no point in being angry at him, I guess; he is not the most clear-headed thinker in the universe, and that fact is nothing new; I mean, he is unable to work and is on Disability for a *reason*, and that reason is that he has neurological “issues”. And is a stupid motherfucker. And that is the reason that I have felt so sorry for him for so long and gone out of my way to try to help him. So I am wrong to be angry at him for not thinking, because he just simply cannot. I am angry at myself for handing the kittens over to him because it was convenient.

I am sorry, guys; I made a bad call. Please head back to the tuna. Please.

I am going to go feel sorry for them and myself now. ‘later, and Merry Christmas.