Mr. Bill and No Testicles

My cat ran away tonight. He must have lost his damn mind because that morbidly obese clown is not going to last the night on the east side of Warren, y’all. The last time he got out he made it a half hour by hiding under the porch, in the corner, and crying like a little bitch. When I got home he literally shit himself and slunk up onto the porch where a neighborhood stray tomcat with both ears shredded and one good eye had literally pissed everywhere in response to his presence outside the home. 

This is the Facebook plea I sent out earlier. I know very few of you live in Warren, but if you do, keep an eye out for this psychopath. He’s dearly loved. Most of the time. Even when I’m livid with his dumb ass. Like today.

Oh, also: James Breakwell told me that my review of his book was one of the funniest he got and told me I was quite the humor writer. I know it’s just a nice thing to say but I’ve been delusionally full of myself since Wednesday. So. 

Ok. Here’s my lost cat poster: 

Well, this big dumb idiot went outside tonight when I got home from work. He has no testicles, so the good news is that he won’t be adding to the stray cat problem on the east side. The bad news is that he also doesn’t have any claws. Or life skills of any kind. Unless you count waiting long-ass periods of time for me to put an empty plate on the table so he can lick it. He is about eight years old, so he’s basically a feline teenager, and as such, he delusionally believes that he is more competent than he actually is. He answers to the name of Mr. Bill. As in, “oh no, Mr. Bill, you’re totally going to get eaten by one of the foxes that lives in the tank yard at the refinery.” Well, he did answer to Mr. Bill, until tonight, when he apparently got super angsty and decided to become an emo cliche and  run away from home and ignore me as I called for him, like the utter, utter bastard that he is. If you happen to find him, he’ll be wearing a super stylish black collar with an unnecessary amount of rhinestones and a bell. Which should make it a lot harder for him to hide from predators, which serves him right. If you happen to find him, punch him in the neck for making poor decisions and then give me a call. I’ll come pick his raggedy ass up.

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