The Truth about Cats and Dogs: They Ruin My Sex Life


I hope I don’t get in trouble with MSPCA or Cat Fancy Magazine for this post. But I gotta come clean – those bitches and pussies be killin my game (and the boy dogs too.)

It first started in high school – we all went over to Georgio Santilli’s house. Guy was fucking gorgeous – I could give two shits that his uncle was a well-known mafioso and he only liked girls with eating disorders; just to be in his presence made your miniscule ego puff up a few inches to ground level. And to be in his HOUSE, that greco-roman plastic-covered marble palace, was sure to give me bully-free locker access for at least a month.

Until his damn beagle came into the kitchen, where we were all standing, and decided to go right for my leg as if it’s his long lost lover. We’re talking horn-dog, sweaty hot sex with my shin, calf and chipped pedicure. “Ohmygaaad, he’s humping her leg!!!!” says this stupid bitch Michelle, as if her audience was Helen Keller. Georgio lets the dog nearly achieve the Dawn of Aquarius with my nascent leg hair until he finally pulls “Buster” off of me. Needless to say, it was a joy to field questions like, “So, are you taking Buster to prom?” for the rest of the school year.

In college, my roommate really, really, wanted a cat. I’m not a cat person, because I’m allergic and I think cats are snotbags. But I was overruled, since she paid more rent and actually cleaned the house. “Duke” was picked up from this guy who had to move to a cat-free apartment and was just devastated that he had to give Duke up – but I don’t know if the feeling was mutual. He came back to visit a month later (i.e., make sure we hadn’t eaten him for dinner) and was sooo excited – “Duke! Duke! Hi, baby! How ya doin? Miss you, boy!” Duke in turn sauntered over, sniffed the air in his old owner’s general direction, then plopped on the couch and started licking its butthole.

Me and my roommate were both on diets, which involved Crystal Light and boxes of frozen spinach. We decided that the cat should also be on a diet, too–why should we have all the fun?!? So this poor feline was given war-ration portions of Fancy Feast, once a day. And man, was he PISSED. He would wait until either one of us, or both, had boys over – I swear, I’m not making this up – and wait until we were asleep, like 2 or 3AM. Then Duke would start the most awful caterwaul-wail you’ve ever heard. Babies drowning, women burning at the stake, Ken seeing his bar tab at the titty bar – nothing could hold a candle to this horrific noise. AND HE’D ONLY DO IT WHEN WE HAD BOYS OVER. We’d come running out, buck naked, running into each other, try to lock him in the bathroom, shove Fancy Feast in his face – he’d still keep it up, for hours and hours. Until the dudes would look at their watches and go, “wow, man, is that the time? gotta go to church soon…”

Even when I tried to be a good girl and have a nice date, Duke would find some way to ruin it. One night I was going to make dinner for a boy at my apartment. While in the kitchen, I had a strange sensation of being watched; I looked over at the living room couch. Duke stood on all fours, back arched, like one of those Halloween black cats, yellow eyes glinting evilly. As soon as I caught his eye, he grinned and took a giant piss, right on the couch cushion. The white couch cushion. And you know cat piss – that shit is chemical warfare. (p.s. I took the boy to Applebee’s. We broke up shortly thereafter.)

One last tale of tail–I dated a guy who had a giant Rottweiler. Beautiful dog, but scary as hell. And, he didn’t like me. He would growl whenever I came over. My boyfriend was all, “aw, just ignore him, he’s a grump,” but his brother, who also lived there, was like, “Wow, Butch usually likes all of John’s friends. I wonder what he’s sensing?” Great. Now I have a severe complex because a dog thinks I’m an evil bitch. I tried everything – brought him treats, cooed and babbled in stupid baby voices, but that dog was stone cold. And made sure I knew it. My boyfriend kept him at bay when I was at his house, but one night while we were having sex I happened to raise my head (yes, I was on the bottom) and there was Butch, at the foot of the bed, growling at me. Like teeth bared and drooling, Kujo style. That was it, I was outta there. And the relationship was kaput – yeah, pick me over a dog that has been in your family since you were 9? Not highly likely.

Don’t get me wrong, I love pets – as long as they stay the fuck out of my durrty bidness.

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