Further Adventures of Cat People or How I Learned to Give Up on Life and Love the Bomb.

I have my mugshot this week and a full fuckin' beard that will be shaved down into some type of scumbag-worthy, mug shottable moustache. It's actually been quite a hindrance to carry around because it itches and is extremely irritating to your face skin. Regardless, it's on. I really wish I had a Big Johnson shirt to complete the look. The idea is to look nothing like it once this whole thing is all over.

The cool side effect of the whole DUI thing is that I can honestly say that I haven't imbibed and drove since the incident. I've drank, but I'm either on my bike or I take a cab and do the walk of responsibility the next morning, which is kind of nice on a Saturday morning.

Anyway, I was home on Saturday night and I was just kinda tired, so I was watching some horrible movies that I can't even remember the name of, but I assure you...Oh fuck, it was Buckaroo Banzai on demand. It was so horrible it was almost good. Peter "Robocop" Weller as a guy who is a neurosurgeon, particle physicist, race car driver, comic book hero, and rock star. He is battling creatures from the eighth dimension which exists in the matter of all the things around us. The thing is dog shit, but somewhere in there is the brilliance of the absurd.

I finished watching it and went on my "patio" to have a smoke. It's in quotations because it's not really enclosed. We had some single mom/single dad/nine year old kid/nine year old kid's friend/playdates super complicated and vague conversation that I finally figured out the next morning, but regardless...While we were sitting outside having a semi-white wine drenched conversation, I looked up at this balcony across the way from our apartments and saw something fall and then heard the bushes rattle below. I looked at the balcony and saw two cats on it and thought to myself "It must not have been a cat because having more than two in an apartment deems the inhabitant legally insane."

Single Dad Neighbor and I walked over to see what it was and there was a kitten just kind of freaking out. As I was trying to get the thing cornered it was running all over the place and jumping into sliding glass doors.

The lady who lived in the apartment finally came out and it was exactly who I thought it would be. It was the weird lady in sweatpants that uses a basket with wheels on it to carry anything to and from the parking lot and always uses the elevator. She also walks a little funny. She also is that lady behind you buying Lean Cuisines and Friskies with the pound for pound ratio going to the Friskies.

Her fucking cats sit up on her balcony all day dreaming of an escape even at the risk of a slow painful, drop-induced death while they look at the world outside of their cat lady cave dreaming of a better place. Well, at least one would hope they are doing that. That's giving the feline brain a little too much credit, though. They probably sit there waiting for her to get home and fall asleep so they can steal her Lean Cuisine, red wine and toothpaste tinged breath while she sleeps.

I had the kitten kind of cornered and The Cat Lady was on the other side of it going "Come on, Honey. Come to mommy."

The whole thing was making me kind of sick to my stomach with an overdose of cat ladydom, but I had nothing else better to do on this Saturday besides catch a cat. [Insert your own pussy joke here]. Plus, I had a soccer game the next day and wanted to get some sleep so I was good for the next morning. We caught the kitten and she grabbed her "baby" and brought it back up to her cat hive. Fuck, I bet it's just full of empty Friskies tins and Lean Cuisine boxes. Gross. Cat People.