Happy Birthday, Nigel. You Jerk.

Every May we know it’s Nigels birthday but nobody has a clue as to the exact date. Call it lack of understanding or call it a first world cat problem, whatever the case, similar to pride month, it’s Nigel month. Buckle in.

Nigel was born a rich male tabby kitten in the year of our Lord two thousand sixteen. My wife at the time wanted a kitten and so be it. I remember we got him from a young Asian family so I wouldn’t think they abused him but regardless Nigels jack ass colors came out more each passing day.

He never liked to be petted, touched or even looked at right and what’s worse, about a year later he came out as the first transgender cat. He was now a she and she was pregnant as all heck.

But who needs to relive all that, really? This is a beautiful cat that needs love, affection, gifts and endless cuddles. No, no it isn’t. She. No, she isn’t. Maybe she does but no one under this roof can get through to her. She’s a grade A arsehole and I believe she knows it.

This is a cat that needs food, water, distance and more distance. Who knows, she may need a CAT scan to figure out her brain mystique. Just the other day her eyes looked at me and said “You should really get rid of Whitney before she winds up” then she spelled the word dead, painstakingly slowly. It was one of those things were it’s like did that just happen? Yep. I think. Typical Nigel so it must have.

A feline wishing murder upon her housemate isn’t anything new but for her to actually utter those words can take anyone for a loop. Another similar offering would be from the other week when I made verbal notice to my daughter that Nigel looked “kinda greasy”. Not like she stole a baby greasy but as though her coat was literally a greasy scenario.

I kid you not, Nigel strolled right out in front of us, sat on her haunches and clear as day conveyed this bone breaker of a statement. “I’m greasy, hey? If I were you I’d look in the mirror quick time and make note of how truly fat your face is. Better yet, don’t. Save yourself the trauma.”

I can’t discipline her. I can’t sell her. I can’t pretend she ran away. I have to be her friend and treat her like royalty. It’s the only way this relationship works. Otherwise the sass will be legendary.

By Hearts Erased

A blogger for 6 years, I now have my poetry collection being published.

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