And now for something completely different . . .
It has been said that, if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? Well, I can think of lots of things actually. Trannies, liberals, Hillary Clinton’s ass, John Lewis looking like a toad, derelicts getting shot in the eye, and so on. But it’s time to laugh at myself, however traumatizing these events have been for me.
There’s been a lot of publicity about the #MeToo movement. People bravely coming forward to confront their alleged victimization by the likes of Harvey Weinstein, Matt Lauer, Bill Cosby, Al Franken, and other assorted mostly liberal scumbags.
But now it’s hit closer to home.
It’s happening to me.
Yes, my cat is raping me and this is my story.
It all started about a year ago when my wife brought home this (seemingly) adorable little homeless kitten. He was no bigger than a can of Campbell’s soup. Given his penchant for attacking everything that moved and his Hitleresque mustache, his name was easy to choose. I dubbed him Kitler.
It all started harmlessly enough. He grew attached to a fuzzy blue blanket that I have. I sleep under this blanket and also like to recline beneath it while watching television. Being taken from his mother at a very young age, he made it a habit of jumping onto me and nursing at this blanket. “OK, I said to myself. “That’s gross, but I can deal with it.” And he’d happily suck on the blanket and knead it with his paws to induce the nourishing flow of milk that never came.
Then it turned into something decidedly more sinister.
A few weeks ago, as I lay in bed under said blanket, I felt Kitler leap up from the floor and lie down on my hip. Not unusual. I drifted back to sleep. Then I was awakened by a very odd sensation. He had positioned himself on one of my legs, firmly grasping it with his fore-paws with his hind legs placed firmly on top of it. Then his hind legs started to slip off to the sides. First the left, then the right. Then the left again, then the right again. What the hell was he doing? I just thought he was being his usually strange self. I pushed him off and went back to sleep.
But this bizarre behavior continued night after night and he became more persistent about it. I’d push him off and he’d jump right back up again, grinding away. Now be aware, we had this cat fixed as soon as the vet said it was safe to do. So again, I refused to believe what was happening to me. I was in heavy denial. A cat with no balls certainly couldn’t have any sexual desires.
One night as I lied down to read, he leaped upon me again! I quickly called my wife into the room. “Look! He’s doing it again! What the f*ck is he doing?!?”
She observed Kitler while I sat up and watched him too. He had the blanket seized firmly in his teeth like a male cat does when mating with a female, and then that horrible slipping of the legs down each side of mine began.
“Yep. He’s humping you,” my wife said.
“MY GOD, MOTHER OF LORDS!” I exclaimed. With some difficulty I removed his sexual death grip from my leg and tossed him gently to the floor. I felt so violated. So shamed. Should I blame myself? Did I do something to lead him on? Were my clothes too skimpy? I felt like such a whore.
Last night was the worst of all. He made at least six different sexual assaults on my leg. Every time I’d start to sleep, that awful humping would begin again.
I know there are many cat lovers on this site so I’ve decided put aside my shame and turn to you for help. How did I go from my kitten’s mother figure to his personal f*ck toy? And how twisted does that make him? Humping his own “mother?” What a little pervert!
Is it my fault? What can I do to escape this sexual abuse or am I damned to be Kitler’s bitch forever?
I wrote this not just for myself but for all the others suffering from the same kind of abuse at the hands . . . paws . . . of their pets.
Let the advice and/or the slut-shaming begin.
