Confessions of a Bad Parent

I've got myself one smart cat. She's really a catdog. She's sprightly and active and superbly trained. And ok, I love my kitty, and she loves me. That's a given. But I must confess that sometimes her precociousness and meowing can be so annoying that I tell her to fuck off. Sometimes. Like, literally, I'll shout, "What?!?!?! What do you want??? Will you fucking fuck off?" I know it's not nice, and I feel bad almost as soon as I say it, because even though she might deserve it because she's totally pushing my buttons, she's just crying out for a little attention. It's not her fault that she doesn't have a goddamned job and Mommy works all day. And I'd never, ever hurt her.

But....I can understand why a weak person, a terrible person, could be driven to abuse an animal. Just sayin'. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm against hunting for sport and boxing and all that shit, but when Doodle is all up in my grill at 3:45 am (the worst possible time possibly ever possibly decided on) wanting to play, wanting to eat, wanting to be annoying as she can be (she's got her reasons), I can't say that I fully have my wits about me at that hour, and a major beatdown that ends in murder when I'm sleepwalking is . . .well, possible. That scares me.

What if, in an uncontrollable fit of rage, I broke her neck, and then I immediately snapped out of it and was like, "Wow, shit, I really killed her, holy shit..." And then I'm holding her limp rag doll frame, fruitlessly performing mouth to cat. Then what? Because everyone and their mother knows how much I love my Doodle, and they'd be like, "How's Doodle? Where's Doodle?" And I'd have to be like, "Oh, she died."And they'd be like "Really? She was sick?" And "I'd be like, oh yeah. For a long time. Forgot to mention it. It was really sudden. Sort of. I mean, yeah, she's dead. Weird, right?" Because I could be arrested for that shit, you know? And it was a total accident, not pre-meditated or anything, so I'd probably get manslaughter, but still. That carries some jail time.

I bet if I confessed to beating my goldfish nobody would care. Fish abuse. Imagine trying to turn yourself in to the authorities for that one.

"Officer? I'd like to report a crime."

"Yeah? What sort of crime, ma'am."

--sob sob sob--" A..a..a.. murder."

"A murder? Ok, calm down, ma'am. What happened?"

"I- I- I- I beat my fish to death. I-I didn't mean it... --sob sob sob- But he's dead. -sob sob sob-He wouldn't swim through the fucking castle! He was pissing me off! I-I bought it for him! --sob sob sob--I'm trying to train him with the pellets on the other side of the moat, and he wouldn't fucking listen to me! He wouldn't swim through! So I punched him. In the face, I think. There was blood...and, and he fell back really hard, to the bottom of the tank, and then he floated to the top. He's dead! I killed my fish. I killed Sigfried! OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE???Why didn't he just swim through the castle? WHY?!?!"

These thoughts makes me feel like a bad parent.