I’m going to start by saying I love my cat. ALOT. but some days love isn’t enough. When I spend a night hitting a giant tree in my fur coat and pajama bottoms, with the torch on my phone being stabbed by tiny thorn brambles, love doesn’t quite cut it.

I mean what sorta cat, climbs a giant tree then gets his furry ass stuck. My cat that’s who. Now in the dead of night, throwing biscuits, lobbing sticks, and throwing myself against a tree to get him down is by no means the little family cat dream.

Talking of little family cat dream, I also thought the litter stage would be temporary, you know until little alfalfa went outside to do his stinky vile poops. WRONG. apparently you can spend all day outside but nip in for a shit.

Now a kitty litter needs constant cleaning unless you like the ‘eu cat shit parfum’ smell wafting your way around the room. So here’s what happened when I attempted to clean the shit tray.

I go outside, in the dead of dark, in my bleach marked leggings. My twig filled fur coat. And gingys size 9s.im soaked through before I make it to the bin. I bang all shite out of the litter, do the awkward wave to the neighbours whilst banging out shit. I head to the outdoor tap to wash out all shit residue. Turn the tap on. Nothing. Turn it up. Nothing… I drop the litter. Turn it up some more BLASTTTTTTTT I get a slug ORGY blasted at me full force. Like literally 6 of the slimy fuckers. I had to PICK ONE out of my fur coat.

And that my friends… Is why cats aren’t really worth it… And if u need any more reason.. Please imagine that my Xmas tree moves more than I do.