Damn the Skank -- Damn Her!

This is my first official guest post.  This female has had a lot on her mind lately, and she’s become rather pissed off about a certain situation.  Therefore, I invited her to express herself on my blog.  Please enjoy. 

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So, that skank is still in the house.  That skinny ass bitch that was found by the dumpster behind a damn Dog N’ Suds now rules the fucking roost, and I am still out here in the cold.  This is bullshit – straight up bullshit.  Twelve years! Twelve years, I have been a loyal, hard-working friend to this family, and the kid brings that girl home one day – and voila – she is adorned with love and adoration while I continue to go unappreciated.  

I am good and I am kind.  I am a loving mother who still cares for her son, providing him food even though he ought to eat less.  The family calls him “Fat Bastard” although his proper name is Jasper.  I guess I never considered what assholes they could be until I became so insanely jealous of that little skank with her fluffy white fur and apparently heart-melting, gentle purr.

 

Me and my Son -- He's not even that Fat, Folks!

 

The poor dumb dog gets called “Lenny” when she’s done something especially foolish.  If you don’t understand that this is a Steinbeck allusion, you are clearly not well-read.  Hell, even I read Of Mice and Men, although I must admit that I thought it would be a guide book to improve my mice hunting skills, thus helping me to impress the humans and earn the respect I desperately yearn for.  Turns out it was really a tale of friendship, but a worthwhile read regardless.  

I bet the skank doesn’t understand why “Lenny” is intended as an insult for the dog.  That dog has been with the family longer than me, even, and she has to sleep in the garage.  The skank gets to sleep in the king size bed.  Bullshit – bullshit I tell you.  It is true the dog developed an incontinence problem about two years ago, so I suppose I understand why she sleeps in the garage.  She was made a nice raised bed by the man.  But me – no bed, no blanket, no tiny scrap of cloth even. 

 

That should be MY scratching post!

 

 

Look what they built for the skank though in the first month she was here.  I want a scratching post like that. Maybe if they built me something like that I wouldn’t scratch at the window screen while I stare inside with sad, desperate eyes.  Then I wouldn’t get yelled at for ruining things.  Ruining things! It’s a damn mesh window screen, which is easily replaceable.  Haven’t they considered how they might have ruined my life?  I’m not replaceable.  I am a precious being, and I should be in that king size bed too.

 

Cute? Cute my Ass! Get that skank out of the tree, and out of the house!!

 

 

I get yelled at when I even sneak in the door. And look! Look at this, would you?  That skank climbed right up into the Christmas tree and what did they do?   They smiled, laughed, took pictures, and said, “Oh, isn’t she so cute?  How adorable!”  I would have been called a brat.  Why, I recall last Christmas, pacing in front of the patio doors begging to be let in for just this one special day.  Angela saw me and said, “C’mon.  She’s a good girl.  Just let her in for today.  It’s Christmas.”  They denied her request.  The bastards.  And then this little skank gets giggles when she climbs in the tree and bats down ornaments?  Such injustice!  

Therefore, I declare a strike.  I will no longer proudly bring dead mice and chipmunks to the door, showing off my skills before feeding my son.  I am going to begin leaving lumps of my shit on the doormat.  How do you like that? Huh? Treat me like shit, and I will give you shit.  I, Coco, deserve that scratching post.  Bullshit, man, bullshit.  If I could, I would take that skanky little kitten right back to the dumpster where she belongs, and I would claim the bed which I rightfully deserve.

 

Enjoy the turds, you unfair fuckers!

 

Love, Coco

 

 

 

That's the Cat's Ass, Ya Skank!

“Don’t step on that skank.  You have to be careful because she’s so small.”

This was the warning my mother issued to my daughter this morning.  I know it sounds like I live in an absolutely insane household, but it’s not really that bad.  Simply, whenever any animal is especially filthy or ill-looking, my mother refers to the creature as “skanky.”  Due to her unique vocabulary, I had always accepted this adjective to mean just that; skanky = very dirty and pitiful in appearance.  At one point in the past, I used this word in my classroom when asking the students if anyone wanted to adopt a stray cat I had recently found.  My students instantly erupted in laughter, and I didn’t initially realize that I had just told them I found an extremely promiscuous cat.  So, the current skank to be careful of was another stray cat my brother had recently found outside his place of employment.

In addition to referring to this creature as a skank, both of my parents have often spewed some unique phrases I once accepted as normal.  I remember when I was young and couldn’t immediately locate my mother; I would ask my father where she was at.  He would reply one of two ways: “Ah, I took her out back and shot her,” or “she’s buried in the back forty.”  He would then proceed to laugh hysterically at his joke.  Apparently, lying to your children about having murdered their mother is a fucking laugh riot. 

While my mom has always bitched at most of the pets, calling them skanks or nuisances (she honestly named one of our past cats FC for fucking cat), my father was adamant that we give them proper attention. To this day, if I walk past one of the animals without acknowledging their presence, my father will state: “Say a kind word.”  This is his request that we say “good dog” or something of the like.  He will also holler at me from another room, “Angela! Angela! Get downstairs!” I always go, still expecting that he has some urgent need that I must attend to.  I am then told, “Look at the dog.” Usually, the dog is doing nothing but lying on his lap and slobbering, but apparently I have just missed the cutest, most adorable, heart-melting thing in the whole wide world … ever!  

While unlike my father in almost every other way, my husband also uses the most random of phrases.  His expressions are those of an eighty year old man.  I think I’ve actually heard him say “Hot Dog!” in excitement before.  He’s generally quite mild in comparison to me.  On one occasion, however, enthusiastic about something he had just witnessed, he exclaimed, “That’s the cat’s ass!”  This was new to me; I had heard of the cat’s pajamas, but never the cat’s ass. 

So -- if you listen well to the world around you, you will constantly be delighted and entertained, learning new expressions and terms nearly every day.  To be observant and subsequently amused by your surroundings is totally the cat’s ass.