You know I hate cats.
Actually, scratch that. Cats hate me.
Growing up, my family was never a cat family. We had every other pet imaginable. Muttish dogs, fish that committed suicide with abandon, bunny rabbits saved from certain death under my father’s lawn mower, a bucktoothed dog named Bucky that once shredded the entire back of a door in order to escape the garage, a hamster that gave birth and then accidentally(?) spilled her water all over her baby hamsters almost freezing them to death, so my mother, a freaking genius of an animal doctor, tried to warm the babies up by placing them ON A METAL COOKIE PAN and then placing THAT METAL COOKIE PAN on top of a KEROSENE HEATER until the putrid smell of burning baby hamster meat permeated the house while us five little girls wailed, “YOU COOKED THEM! THEY’RE ALL SHRIVELED AND BLACK AND DEAD! THEY LOOK LIKE KIDNEY BEANS! WAHH!”
Saddest thing you ever saw was the backyard funeral for the blackened baby hamsters my mom roasted on an open fire.
My point is. We never had a cat so I didn’t know they hated me until my sister Tina Fey owned a cat, appropriately named Kitty. If I dared to lay down on my sister’s couch for a nap or to watch TV, Kitty, who could have been six miles away, would hear my body squish the cushions of the couch and she would miraculously appear and leap up on my chest, flick open her claws with the exact same sound that Wolverine makes when his claws open, and then Kitty would dig at my chest like I had dead birds implanted into my boobs. If I tried to swat Kitty away, she would make like she was going to eat my face in order to get to those dead birds.
That started my fear of cats in general. I mean, a dog, you say “come here” and the dog comes to you even if you’re holding a rolled up newspaper or an open flame. You say, “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” to a dog and it will immediately and sorrowfully beg your forgiveness even if it did nothing wrong. Say EITHER one of those things to a cat and the cat will calmly say, “F–k you.”
I also distinctly recall going to a baby shower at a friend’s mother’s house a few years back, and they had recently adopted a really ridiculously adorable kitten. I mean, this little kitten probably farted sprinkles, she was that cute. I entered into the living room where all the ladies were gathered for the shower and saw them fawning over the furball, and I was all, “Well, it’s just a little kitten and wook how cute da wittle kitty is!”
When it finally came my turn to nuzzle its velvety nose, I gently approached the kitten and began to stretch my hand toward its head when [hiss] [scratch] [bitch!] [move one inch closer to me and I’ll rip the dead birds from your bosom] happened. This little ball of Skittles was INSTANTLY transformed into a hissing agent of Satan.
All the ladies who had taken turns smothering the kitten, looked at me like surely I must have the demon in me for the cat to hate me so much, so instantly.
Fast forward through lots of similar experiences which finally led me to the conclusion that cats can taste my fear and that’s why they react to me the way they do. That was also the same excuse I gave when it came to babies. THEY TASTE MY FEAR!
Then I entered my sister Pens Fan’s house for Christmas dinner last week to find a cat resting on the carpet, all innocent like. Instinctively, my hands flew to my breasts, shielding them from the impending onslaught of GIVE ME THE DEAD BIRDS, YOU BITCH!
But the cat just blinked at me. Slowly.
And I realized it was fake. A toy. A demon toy called the Furreal Friend.
This toy is equal parts scarily lifelike and scarily soulless.
It will sit there and stare at you all dead-eyed for twenty minutes, not moving, just watching your heaving, beckoning bosom, and then …
SON OF A BITCH!
If you want to see your little niece cry, punt her Furreal Demon Kitty across the room after it blinks at you.
The points of my story are this:
1. Cats hate me.
2. Furreal Friends are battery-operated blinking demons.
3. Metal is a conductor.
4. You can kick a Furreal Friend further than a real cat.
5. My bosom is not safe.
6. I wonder if I can train cats and pigeons to fight each other to the death.
7. Toys today are getting a little too real. Baby dolls that poop and fake demon cats that try to scratch your eyes out.