Terminal PMS

My husband must really love me. He has to put up with my emotions, my legal thought process (that alone is grounds for an evaluation by a trained professional) and, on occasion, terminal PMS.

I say terminal not because it is terminal for me, but more because it can be terminal to the happiness, sense of well being, and general bodily intactness of those around me. Many have seen the psycho, wine consuming, chocolate hogging beast that sometimes inhabits my body, but few have lived to tell the tale. Therefore, the warnings have not been written.

This is a story of how my husband and his satanic cat fell victim to the beast. I say his satanic cat because the cat refuses to acknowledge the fact that, despite 6+ years of marriage and cohabitation, I am not going away. That, and sometimes the cat looks like this:


Note -- This is a simulated image. The actual image of the satanic cat has been altered to protect your computers from demonic possession.

Anyway, one fine day my head was located roughly three inches above my neck and my skin was a sickly shade of green. . .I may have even been speaking in tongues. My husband was on my list (you know the one) because he was doing something . . .I can't remember what that something was but I guarantee you it was something that deserved the list, something like breathing too hard or being nice. The cat was prancing around the house, and the dog, well he was the only smart one. . .he was hiding from me in the backyard.

Also, he is too cute for me to hurt. . .just look at this handsome fellow:

Pardon the doggie porn.

Anyway, as a recap we have one hiding dog, one innocent husband, one satanic cat, and me.

Well, the innocent husband decided to take a shower, because it was the safest place to be at the time, or so he thought. I was puttering around the house when I heard a tell tale scratching sound which signaled that the cat had found our newest piece of furniture and decided to mark it as his own.

It must have been the hormones, because all of a sudden I had the super human speed of The Bionic One, and I was able to grab the cat in the middle of his dash to his hidey hole. I caught the little bugger just in time.

I am beyond peeved at this point because there are now scratches in our new chair, and I am holding a hissing and spitting cat. And then it dawns on me. . .the cat likes my innocent husband so much, maybe he should be spending more time with him.

And that is when it happened. I walked very calmly into the bathroom, announced to my showering, innocent husband that HIS cat needed some quality time with him, and then I very calmly dropped the cat into the running shower with my innocent and compromised husband.

I will never forget the look my husband gave me . . .It was a combination of sheer WTF and concern. The cat, well, he fell fast, hit the water and then proceeded to jump (as only cats can do) back into the air, through the shower curtain and out of the bathroom.

Told you I was terminal!

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For everyone concerned on the welfare of the satanic wonderful cat, here is a post shower picture of him IN THE CHAIR!