I Got My First Hate Mail!

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So yesterday my cat made peepers on my comforter and I noticed while I was laying it in.  And I nearly beat her silly.

Today, on my way to work, someone posted this…

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First of all, the George Zimmerman reference – how topical!  I applaud his ability to liken me to someone who shot and killed a teenager based most likely on prejudice.  Actually, now that I’m thinking about it –  if I did hit the cat, that would probably kill her.  Okay, critic, you win this round!

A few things funny about this guy’s post.  First, he clearly has read at least two of my articles.  And since the average commenter reads about ten stories before they comment, odds are that he’s a fan.  Or somebody who hates me and still reads.

Or… somebody who liked me but now hates me.  So many scenarios!  I’m totally fascinated.

Second, he’s actually trying to be helpful.  First he calls me an a-hole, which you learn in debate club is sort of not suggested.  But he does offer practical solutions.  So I applaud his willingness to help.  He’s nutty, but nutty-helpful.

Then, out of nowhere he sent me a pretty inappropriate tweet.  Not only does he follow the blog on Facebook, he follows me on Twitter.  He tweeted something pretty nasty that bordered on obsessive.  I had to block him.

My blogging friends were laughing about how they, too, receive hate mail from goofballs.  The Napkin Dad, Marty Coleman, told me that just yesterday he received some hate mail for his thought that Jesus might have been imperfect.  Oh no he di-int!

But as an epilogue to the story, no I did not beat my cat.  I did watch two episodes of My Cat From Hell and have started to exercise my cat’s prey instinct with DaBird, that dude on the show’s favorite toy.  We’ll see what happens.

Today when I got home, even though she slept with me last night, I felt like I needed to make amends.  I took a nap and she slept on my chest for an hour.  We’re best pals again.

Until she pees on the comforter again.  Then, the little shit is getting kicked square in the cat vagina.

Written entirely at the laundromat while waiting for my comforter to be cleaned, since the washing machine one in my condo isn’t big enough.  There’s lots of scary people here.

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