Tag Archives: Cat

How much do you pay for your pussy . . . cat.


How much is your cat worth?

If you answer that by adding the cost of ammunition with how much time you’ll spent cleaning up the mess, you’re simply not helping.

And if you’re wondering what a skinned cat goes for on the open market, you’re also not helping. You’re also kind of a sicko. For the record the answer to that question, assuming the skinned cat is average-sized, is 18 cents. I’ve asked that very question myself.

I mean what is the fucking cat’s worth in dollars and cents if your wife loves the

Cat

Total value of all parts, 18 cents (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

fool beast with all her heart? Then what’s it worth?

I was actually just ripped away from writing this piece by my wife so I could go to the window to watch the cat do something retarded in the backyard.

That retarded something was watching the idiot beast roll around in dirt. Yeah, I know, it’s a natural defense mechanism many creatures on our earth participate in to defend themselves against skin irritants, but my wife found it cute.

We don’t have our own penis-in-vagina-made kids, and we certainly don’t have any actual children in the house, apart from myself I mean, so I think she dotes on the mouse catcher a bit more than most.

Or she’s just easily amused, who knows?

So I again ask the question, what’s that particular cat, in my set of circumstances worth — its well-being, its continued existence, its quality of life — what is that worth, if you were in my shoes?

Putting further parameters on the question: What’s all that worth over a two-week period when you’re gone? How much would you pay, in hard-earned cash to ensure that the beast is at least fed, watered and kept clean? Tack on the additional love and attention and what’s that cat sitter worth to you, dollars and cents wise.

I said $200, and that apparently means I’m spending all my money on hookers and heroin, because I think $200 is an insane amount to pay anyone for such services.

I bring all this up because that’s exactly what I recently paid a college kid visiting her parents here in Europe for the summer. The way I calculated that sum is described as this. Poor college kid, kid needs money, kid had to come to my house to perform the duties, we’re not poor (we’re not rich but really, we’re not poor), and don’t be a dick.

Mr. Burns

Not me. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Seriously, the kid had to come to our house. Meaning they have to borrow mom or dad’s car or be driven by a parent in order to complete the task each and every time. It’s also Europe. Europe is expensive. I realize it’s not my duty to fund a kid’s free-time activities while visiting mom and dad in Europe over summer vacation, but I’m also not going to turn into the Simpson’s Mr. Burns character either.

We’re faced with a similar situation in that we need help with the cat duties again. But this time we’re asking a friend watch the cat in her own house. So literally, all she has to do is not kill it. Not killing a cat, unlike the assholes that answered the lead of this blog with, “How much do bullets cost,” is the easiest thing to do. The person watching our cat while we fly back to the U.S. for vacation could, I know for a fact, not feed or water the beast for the entire two weeks and the little flea bag would likely survive the ordeal. Sure, Abby the cat (I think that’s its name) will have to drink toilet water, but who hasn’t done that? Everyone’s done that, right?

Here’s the part I can’t make up in a million years — the agreed upon price for cat sitting in her own home is  $100 bucks and a carton of Marlboro Lights (really the bar isn’t high with this person). If you don’t smoke, let me help you out with some basic math, a carton of name brand cigarettes here is about $45 on post.

So let’s add this all up. For a week college kid has to drive at least 20 minutes one way to feed, water, poop scoop and play with the retarded skin bag of claws my wife calls “her baby.” Two hundred dollars is a crazy fucking amount that no sane person would pay. Paying a person $145 to watch a cat for two weeks that she has at her home while she’s unemployed anyway, is totally, however, completely reasonable.

On top of all this lets all reemmber that the pussy was in fact free.

Here’s another fun married fact that cracks me up because it’s so very 110 percent the kind of thing my wife does.

This morning Dagmar called and mentioned she was going to the bank to get a money order for $3,500. This struck me as odd because I had no idea what the money order was for but it sounded like something I should know about.

I pressed her for more information. It turns out that she, throughout the last 12 months or so, has been saving up money on the side. On the side as in not in

Change

Tons of change (Photo credit: spcbrass)

the bank, but in a shoebox or some shit, for our trip to the U.S. This fact alone cracks me up because, well, we’re not children of the depression and she could have easily just deposited it in the bank every time there was a decent amount collected. She saved this amount by, a yard sale, endlessly vacuuming up my loose change and who fucking knows what else. But shit, $3,500 is a nice amount Bella, good job!

But why the money order? I asked this question and received a sane and well thought out answer if the year was 1956.  She wants a money order because she would be crazy to carry that much cash with her back to the U.S. Which, technically is true. It would be crazy, more crazy than having $3,500 just lying around the house anyway. When I suggested that she could — and this is a very radical idea — deposit it in our joint account and then withdraw it via ATM once we’re in the states — she replied that I was a genius and that I was the greatest … well she just agreed that I might have a point.

A friend that I’ve long since lost touch with once told me that couples don’t argue about how much money there is (or isn’t), they argue about how the money is allocated. But they were likely quoting Dr. Phil, so fuck them.

Thing is though, I always looked back on that statement during times like this and thought, holy shit, that’s a good call. Dagmar and I do this all the time.

I think, like a lot of couples, we tend to divide the roles up when it comes to money. If we were a corporation, I’d be in charge of the long-term financial strategy and she’d be CEO of day to day operations, watching what’s being spent on the here and now.

It’s just fun to occasionally poke the CEO of the day to day operations in the eye. But if she ever blogs about the long term CEO investment strategy, I’m screwed.

Chicks are evil; a case study. Also I’ll go to bed when I want Mom!


Women are evil.

It’s because they are helpless little frail creatures unable to confront men that makes them evil.

If you ask a man married for more than 6 months if women are evil he will think for a moment and say, they can be.  Ask any man married longer than 6 months if women are evil and he will tell you stories.

This is a story.

As I just said women are frail creatures that like flowers, the color pink or purple and cats.  They like cats because cats kill stuff and that makes no sense at all when you think about it.

Men on the other hand are hulking brutes that invented things like guns, beer and playboy centerfolds.  We’re just smart enough to not kill ourselves at any given moment and sometimes we’re not all that smart then even.

Perhaps it’s not that women are evil it’s just that women are smarter and the ones that we’ve let into our daily lives (day after, after day, after day, after day, after … oh god I need a beer) they gain an understanding of how to manipulate our behavior without our ever knowing our behavior was manipulated until after the manipulation occurred and then damn, it’s too late, you’ve been manipulated!

Women are manipulating.

My wife’s under the impression that I stay up to late and, years ago, she was right.  It’s hard to use a brain at anywhere near functioning capacity when you routinely go to bed at 2 a.m. and have to wake up at 6:30 a.m. but lately, the last year or so, it’s been a reasonable, I think, 9:30 or 10:00 at night for me.

I’m old screw you and get off my .com kids.

Going to bed a bit earlier is a good thing but for her that means 8:00 p.m. because the cat needs milking in the morning and someone needs to feed the washer and dryer I guess.

Klause died a lot ... it's okay though we 'sexxored all the ladies' and were 'mad pimps" but we died a lot really

Klause died a lot … it’s okay though we ‘sexxored all the ladies’ and were ‘mad pimps” but we died a lot really. We were level fail mostly.

Truly I don’t need to be up until 1 a.m. reading scientific journals and … okay I was totally trying to get to level 78 on my super wizard on everdork, or worldofdorkness or you’re not my mom so shut up.

Anyway in my mind 9:30 is perfectly reasonable.  It gives me plenty of time to post “it is NOT” on Facebook and to like people’s photos of kittens.   I specifically do not share things that people say 99 percent of their friends will not share because I want to be in the majority for once.

So I use that time to NOT do things as well, pretty smart amiright?!?!?!

So last night came and at 8 p.m. the following (typical dialog) occurred.

Her:   It’s 8 and I’m going to bed are you coming?

Me:  Not yet I’ve got a lot of facebook liking about this whole Chickfila thing to do!

Her: What?

Me:  (with an eye-roll) Loser, are you new to the ‘net’ or what?  If you support gay rights you have to go on facebook and like all the Chickfila appreciation days posts you see … man go to bed, I have work to do.

Her:  Umm no, that’s not right Todd.  The folks liking the Chickfila appreciating day are supporting the company’s decision to give millions of dollars to anti-gay marriage groups.

Me:  No, that’s not … wait, they are against (quick Google) HOLY SHIT I HAVE LIKE 40 THOUSAND LIKES TO UNLIKE!
Her:  Come to bed soon.

I did go to bed is the point.   At 9:30 after a vigorous work out of my right hand index finger during operation ‘unlike’.

And slept like a baby.

I don’t know about you but I’m a one snooze on the alarm kinda person, sure sometimes we hit it twice but I try for only one personally.

The alarm when off, I smacked it, swore under my breath that someone should

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

legislate a 10 am start of work law or something and then at 6:40 a.m. did my duty and got out of bed.   Bathroom break taken care of I headed down stairs for a cup of coffee and scan of the headlines on the iPad only to discover some asshole invented a 5:40 a.m. and I was currently living in it.

If you don’t know what happened go but up and read the first paragraph again.   Part of her plan to get me to go to bed earlier is to start setting my alarm earlier.

Women are evil I tell you.

I fixed her though, I took a nap on the couch from 5:50 to 6:30 … it was a pretty good nap too.