I'm going to hell for that, aren't I? Is it my fault she is the most vile creature on earth? I used to pity her, because she is one of the dumbest cats I have ever run across, but now I think it was all part of her evil plot to drive me nuts.

I don't think I ever shared the story about Biddy. Biddy was a "birthday gift" from my friend, Kay. Why do I say "birthday gift"? Because it was the only way to bring another cat home without John yelling at me and making me take it back where I got it. I wanted a second cat. I wanted an orange cat. I purposely deceived him in order to have the cat. I have gotten what I deserve. Tenfold.

Kay knew some people on a farm outside Omaha that just had a new litter of kittens. She was going to adopt a cat of her own, and I really wanted one too, so we devised the plan for her to get me one as a birthday gift, since it was May, and that's what I wanted. We knew John couldn't refuse a gift, so I chose the cutest little orange one of the bunch, which was actually my second choice, because I really wanted the cat with no tail, but that one was being kept by the owners. I should have known then that not getting the one I really wanted was a bad sign. I also thought I chose a boy cat. I also thought it was short haired. Don't ever let me choose a cat for you.

We loaded the two cats in the car, and Kay took them to her house where she would keep my cat until my birthday. So the big day came, and she brought a lovely gift bag to my house. Out popped this adorable kitten. John grimaced. It was far from love at first sight. In fact, I feared he was going to make Kay take the cat back, but he fell for the whole birthday line, and I had my second cat.

I named her Butterscotch. I thought it was cute and fit her because she was that nice, orange color. Turns out she was far from being a sweet treat. She was such a cute little thing that I started calling her Itty Bitty Kitty instead. Butterscotch was a little too hard to say when I could just rattle off IttyBittyKitty so quickly. That was shortened to Bitty, but now she's more an old Biddy than a Bitty. She got pretty fat, so she wasn't all that bitty anymore.

Besides turning into the bitch cat from hell who would purr when you looked at her only to haul off and bite you mid-purr, she was dumb as a stump, once running at full speed into the doorjamb because she missed the door. I think that caused further damage to her already addled brain.

Asia thought she was a great playmate, except for the fact she didn't really like playing, so she was more a boxing bag. She would just roll over and lay there or run away and hiss at him. They still do that to this day. I have the routine down where I mimic their play. I think I sound similar, but I am not going to figure out sound files, so the text version will have to do. The routine is gallop-gallop-gallop, rrRRReeeEEEEEoooWWWooOOOoWWW, hisssssss and repeat until Asia finally gets tired of wife-beating. John and I joke about making Asia a kitty-size wife beater to wear.

But it's not the catfights or the stupidity that make me want to have that cat freeze-dried and mounted on my wall. It's her thorough badness. This cat will get up on the dining room table as soon as your back is turned and eat off your plate. The same cat who has to take three or four trials just to jump up on your lap, which is half the height of the table. After she eats what she isn't supposed to, she throws it up. This morning, she was on the table before Booie was out the door for school, drinking the leftover milk out of a cereal bowl. Said milk happened to be blue, because of the limited edition box of Captain Crunch Wild Berries I bought that has special white pieces that turn blue. So this blue milk ended up not only in a big pool on the carpet not ten minutes after the little bitch drank it, but also in another big blue pool on the basement stairs and a not-so-big blue pool at the bottom of the basement stairs. Why in so many places? Every who has a cat will know that they always move after a barf, but this cat goes down the stairs as she does it, because she knows she's being bad! I'm thankful she wasn't on the couch when she started her barfing. I've cleaned barf off of there many, many times, and I don't know how the blue milk barf would have come out of the off-white cushions.

Not only do we have massive quantities of barfing because of the illicit food she eats (Wouldn't you quit eating things you aren't supposed to eat if you barfed every time you did it? Proof of her outright mental incapcity.), but she turned out to be a long-haired cat. While Kay's cat was the short-hair she expected, Biddy's hair just kept growing. And that long hair causes hairballs. How she gets hairballs, I couldn't say, because she rarely cleans herself, but she gets them, and she barfs them up constantly, even when we brush her all the time and give her hairball formula food. Often, she has several pre-hairball barfs before she actually gets the hairball out. This cat barfs all the damn time!

And remember that part about not cleaning herself? She also doesn't give a rat's ass if there are turds stuck to her fur after she's used the litter box. She's like a poop truck, towing turds around the house and dropping them off all over the place. Believe me, she's not allowed in the bedrooms.

Think it can't get more disgusting than that? How about the fact she's incredibly lazy and won't haul her ass downstairs to unload it in the litter box sometimes. She will just up and go right where she is, move over a little bit, lie down, and go back to sleep. Yes, she's been to the vet. No, she has nothing wrong with her but for the fact she's just fucked up.

Kay and I told John a couple years ago about our plot to bring Biddy into the house. To my surprise, he had no clue, and if you think he was mad when I got Biddy for a gift, it was a hug compared to how livid he was when he found out I went behind his back. Now we're all paying for my transgression. Funny thing is, I wasn't sure I wanted Asia when we went to get him. He seemed sluggish, and I was worried he wasn't well (He was a mall pet store cat, after all.), but John convinced me it was because he had shots that morning. We took him home, and he's my very favoritist animal we have. On the other hand, I wanted Biddy and lied and connived to get her, and she turns out to be the redheaded stepchild of the family. I didn't really want Kaya either, and she turned out to be the best dog on earth. So I don't think I'm allowed to choose anymore pets.

You know what's going to happen, don't you? Biddy is going to outlive them all. Despite losing teeth, barfing, being dumb as a box of hammers, and least liked, she will live to twenty or something like that. I care for the stupid beast, but I wouldn't be heartbroken if she went to live somewhere else. I know, I'm a bad cat mommy. I deserve everything I get with that cat. Penance sucks.

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