Why God Hates Me

This will be the first of several blog posts with the same theme.  These are stories of examples of the bizarre, the unlikely, the unbelievably-coincident that prove to me that God has a conspiracy to embarrass, humiliate, and confuse me.  I will begin with an email I wrote to my sister.  She and my niece found it funny, and suggested I post it on Facebook, which I did.  Here now is I Don't Have Socks Anymore:

I wanted to send you a little note to let you know what my morning's been like, and you'll see just how much God hates me.

I have clothes set aside for trimming the yard.  They get covered in grass so they're a pain to deal with.  After trimming the yard, I throw the T-shirt, shorts, and socks in the washer.  I have to wash them once, and rinse them 2-3 times to get rid of all the grass.  So I went through the cycles as usual, and when the rinse water was clear enough, I spun them dry and removed them from the washer.

I couldn't find one of the socks.  I looked, and looked, and I began to wonder if this was going to be one of those stories you hear about disappearing clothes.  I finally found the sock.  It had managed to work its way into one of the pockets of the pair of shorts.  The sock was essentially unwashed, as it had remained wadded-up in the pocket, and it was still covered in grass.

I put the clothes in the dryer anyway, socks and all.  The end.

The following is my second example of why God hates me, and the timing is heavenly hell.  

Yesterday for the first time in weeks, I posted two blogs.   In one blog I attempted to prove the existence of God with the observation that my cat Jerri could have bowel movements and yet not get a single bit of feces on her very long, all-white fur. 

Today, for some reason I still can't explain, Jerri is having a bout of diarrhea.  Once again it's time for me to don the disposable rubber gloves and grab the cat-poop-only scissors.   

If God exists, he wishes for me to be humble.  Score on both points, God.  

Proof of God

People have always asked the question, is there a God?  

For centuries it's been argued.  Whether you believe, or disbelieve,  whether you are for, or against, there has never been a clear-cut, definitive answer.  

UNTIL NOW!  

I carefully observe the world around me.  I have the ability to think, and to reason, and to imagine.  

Here is what I see:

I have a pretty, fluffy white cat named Jerri.  She is all-white with pink skin.  I like to say, she looks like a cotton ball that got splashed with a strawberry milkshake. She is of a long-hair breed, and even around her rear end, the fur is full   Because she is all, pure white, everything that gets on her fur shows up clearly.  Everything, and of course that includes poo.

When Jerri walks away from me, she looks like she's wearing furry jodhpurs.  The fur around her rear legs is extraordinarily long, and it goes in all directions.  Yet, despite this abundance of fur, that you just know is in search of something sticky to get caught in it, Jerri can empty her adorable little bowels, and she doesn't get one speck of poo on her furry jodhpurs.  Not one speck, anywhere. 

This cat, this animal, has no toilet paper, and no moistened towelettes to help her clean up with.  All she can do, is do her business, and then bury it and walk away.  And yet, despite this lack of concern on her part, and the fact that her poop-chute is surrounded by fur, she manages to poop and "wipe" all in one natural motion, and she doesn't even have a mess to clean up afterward.

That such an animal can exist....

This is my Proof of God.

Why couldn't I be so lucky, God?  

Guess What Happened to the Cat that Came to Dinner?

I'm always looking for new ways to make my cats happy.  One of those ways is grooming them with a brush.  I bought a new tub-and-sink scrub brush from the local mega-mart because it was big, easy to grab, cheap, and had stiff bristles on it.  Both Stig and Jerri like their brushing time, which doesn't come too often, sadly.  When I do brush them, I get mountains of hair, and getting the hair out out of the brush isn't easy.  At least, it wasn't until I hit upon an idea. 

I took an old dinner fork, and committed it to use as a brush-cleaner-outer.  Now, after a heavy petting and brushing session, I have a way to rid my big brush of its load of hair.  That would be good enough if the story stopped there, but it doesn't.

I soon turned my fork on my cats.  First Stig got a taste.  He had just got into something, I shudder to think what, and he had a patch of foul-smelling fur that was stuck together just in front of the base of his tail.  As he walked about, it stuck up in the air like a cowlick.  I trimmed off the biggest share of it with scissors (and left him with a nice bald patch!).  Afterward, I still had some small areas to get un-matted and I used the fork for it.  He sure was glad I did!  He cooed and cackled with delight as I gently worked-out the matts with my fork.  Soon jealousy came by, namely Jerri, and of course she had to have some, too.  The forking didn't seem to impress Jerri as much as Stig.  That's all right, though.  Stig has had a hard life, and he doesn't have too many joys other than eating.  It's always nice when I can find something to make his world a little brighter.

So now you know what happened to the cat that came to dinner.  He got forked.  And now I fork my cat on a regular basis.  Some days, I'm tired, and other days, it's hard to find the time.  I try, however, to fork my cat at least once a day.  It's my way of saying, I love you.