My F$@#ing Cat

Well, I just spent the last 45 minutes wandering our neighbourhood calling for a cat that had gone out early this afternoon and hadn't been heard from since.  My wife is much fonder of this cat than I am.  She was quite distraught at the missing feline.  So, out we went and wandered the snowy streets, looking like fools, calling out a cat's name.  Unfortunately, we saw nothing and heard nothing while out and about.

When we got home, Jen went out on the deck one last time and called London's name.  She said she heard him.  After listening I determined he was somewhere in the back yard.  Now, we've had quite a bit of snow over the last couple of weeks.  I plowed out into the back yard.  The snow was up to my crotch!  I'm not a tall man, but that's still pretty deep snow!  I chugged through the wiener deep snow, only pausing long enough to listen for pathetic meows from the back corner of the yard.  Of course the  little idiot managed to get to the farthest point in the yard possible.  When I finally made it to the far corner, the cat was peaking out from behind a sheet of chip board the previous owners had left leaned up against the shed.  It turns out that he had taken the fence most of the way around the yard and then jumped down at the back.  That is when the fool cat realized that the snow is deep in the front AND the back of the house.  So, we carried him back into the house where he promptly showed us his ass and went to get something to eat and fall asleep.


Sometimes I really hate that f$@#ing cat.