Cats. So many cats. God help me.

I can not say much about this. I am still recovering. The mental and emotional wounds have not healed. I don’t know if they ever will.

All I’ll say is this: it was bad enough when my wife wanted to get a cat. It was bad enough when her trip to get “one” cat magically turned into an acquisition of two cats. It was bad enough when I was relegated to litterbox duty (pun intended) because cat fecal matter apparently contains a toxic element that can deform or otherwise harm unborn children, further proving my theory that cats are inherently evil and destructive creatures. It was bad enough when we waited too long to get the cats “fixed” and one of them summarily got herself pregnant, despite the fact that I tried to teach her the value of abstinence. Yes, this was all more than enough cat for a person like myself who doesn’t particularly enjoy the company of the feline species.

And then, while my wife was out of town, the pregnant one, as if in a deliberate attempt to irritate me, decided to give birth. But even THAT wasn’t enough. She chose to hop up ON MY LAP and casually begin to go into labor. No warning. No red flags. She was making a lot of noise, I thought she was hungry or something. I don’t speak cat. And out of nowhere, hey, something disgusting is suddenly coming out of her. I thought she was jumping up on me to get at my food. Did I mention I was eating at the time?

Anyway, everything is fine now. I took care of it. But you have to understand I am a borderline OCD germ-a-phobe. Therefore, this was my hell. I mean, the vet told me she would “nest” when it was time to give birth. She never mentioned THAT I WOULD BE THE DAMN NEST.

I took a long shower. In acid. I’ll be OK. Eventually. Hopefully.

By the way, does anyone want a kitten? Get ’em while they’re fresh.