|Gingy Kitty about to eat a member of the roach graveyard.|
The first time you see a mongoloid jungle roach soaring through your living room, it’s like Mother Nature junk-punching you for all those times you couldn’t find a garbage can. You want to scream OKAY ENOUGH ALREADY, I’LL STOP USING STYROFOAM AND ONLY EAT KALE. And the first time a thumb-sized cockroach manages to contort the notches of its exoskeleton to squeeze through a dime-sized hole in our drain while you’re washing some dishes, entire organ systems begin to tremble. There is something about the sight of a cockroach that elicits both your gag reflex and internal hatred for all dirt dwellers. My home is not a sewer. I clean up after myself and use the appropriate amount of caution when opening doors and windows, and yet my home is apparently the safe haven for every roach on the island spreading dysentery all over this biatch.
As Lindsay recounts her run-in with three massive guys in her bedroom, I look around the kitchen to find a companion scurrying under the fridge, one crawling up the wall and two blocking the entrance to where my sheets hang drying. The type of infestation that makes you wonder what sorcerer in the roach community you so deeply offended to warrant this type of plague.
Back in the land of logic, you have 10 cockroaches in your home at one time one of two things happens a) you burn down your home and collect insurance on the vomitous insect clause or 2) a bearded man in a yellow VW bug with ears and a tail comes to your home and flea bombs the entire joint until you’re breathing toxic yellow gas for all eternity. But I do not currently reside in America, nor do I know the number of a pest company. What I do have is a hiking shoe and a knack for crushing these crunchy cats before they become airborne.
And while we’re on the cat subject, we’ve got another vermin visitor that frequents my abode. A satanic orange cat has taken keen to leaving daily piss puddles on our motorbikes. The first few incidents seemed harmless enough, until ginger kitty began pissing on the seat to my bike. Now I must hose it off before I leave anywhere. And after the hosing is done and the appropriate amount of swearing has occurred, I sit on my bike to leave only to have satan feline hop on the seat with me like we’re going on a joy ride to Petsmart. EFF YOU CAT. I’m 98% sure this cat is the reincarnation of all the ginger souls I’ve tortured over the years. And a look into my future of breeding my own angry ginger kids. The universe is quite the jokester.
Our house has a separate indoor-outdoor hallway and the door is just bars, wide enough for a cheeky cat to sneak between, which is just what this soulless feline did before he/she/ladyboycat decided to take a wittle kitty poo and then smear it all over the tile, walls, etc. So between scrubbing cat excrement, scraping roach guts off the walls and the harmonious sound of the rabid soi dog chorus that holds practice every morning upon sunrise, the animal kingdom of Choktip Villa has us now.