Will somebody please take this cat? He is horrible. All day long he follows me around, meowing. I feed him but he eats all of it in seconds and then meows some more. I have tried to find a muzzle but nobody sells cat muzzles. He also keeps filling his litter box with poop. I can't believe how much poop comes out of this cat. At the end of the day there's like twenty pounds of cat poop in the box. That's not normal, right? I'm beginning to think that this cat is a gypsy curse.
Last night I woke up with the cat standing on my chest. He looked into my eyes; I looked into his. We each tried to communicate our thoughts. This continued for approximately five hours. Eventually, he let out one long, low meow. It was horrible. It sounded like an engine dying. If he starts doing this every night, I don't think I can take it.
This cat is old. He could die at any minute. Won't somebody give him a home? He's ruining mine. I can't open the door without smelling his farts. Yesterday, the mailman told me he cannot deliver my mail anymore because the stench coming from my home is too unbearable. When I go to the store, people take me aside and tell me that I smell like cat farts. What kind of existence is this? Am I trapped on a particularly cruel level of hell?
I will pay you money to take this cat. I have five-hundred dollars that I was saving for purchasing a life-sized replica of lieutenant Uhura, but I will give it all to you if you come and take this cat this instant. No refunds. Keep in mind, this cat is a major commitment. You will have to resign yourself to smelling like cat farts.
I'm going to have to be straight with you, though. You can't get rid of this cat. You can't kick him out or drop him off at the animal shelter. You can't poison him. If you club him with a bat, he'll get back up. The only way to get rid of him is to gift him to somebody else. If you think you can do that, and you want five-hundred dollars, then be my guest. You can't say I lied to you.
He's watching me as I type this. He sits on the kitchen table, eating my food. There's a certain kind of cruel arrogance in his smirk, as though he knows exactly what I'm doing. I fear for my life. Please, come take my cat. Help me.
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