Hillbilly Cat, Hillbilly Cat (What are they feeding you?)

Dear Hillbilly Neighbors,

Oh, where to begin? Just to reiterate, no, I do not have an extra SD card you can "have" (Do you really own a digital camera? Really?). No, you cannot use my wi-fi. No, it is not OK that Hillbilly Grandma and Grandpa (They just got married a couple of weeks ago - the "reception" was in the backyard here.) flick their cigarette butts onto my lawn. No, it is not OK that you put your slip'n'slide on my front lawn (Imagine Booby Brian shirtless sliding down a slip and slide outside of your window. It is not a nice scene.) then left it there on a hot day, burning my lawn.

While I'm rattling off grievances, please do us all a favor and pull your damn recycling cart away from the curb. You look ridiculous playing basketball in the street and using your recycling cart as the hoop. And by "you" I don't mean your children, I mean you, Jabba (Big Daddy) James. Additionally, driving around with Booby Brian and Little James in the back of your pickup truck is not legal. I should call protective services.

What I'm most enraged about, Hillbilly Neighbors, is the situation with your kitten. Yes, after blowing through not one but two puppies, you now have possession of a kitten. Said kitten keeps "escaping" and you don't do much to try to find it. Last time it escaped and you, Big Momma, yelled, "It's just a freaking cat!" at your toddler as she cried because she couldn't get kitty (Smart cat hid under the deck so no one could get to it.) I vowed to snatch the kitty if I ever had the chance.

Well, I had the chance.

Last weekend all was quiet at your house. You and I know this never happens. Of course, I took advantage of this opportunity to do some yard work. Gracie was all hyped up about something under the shrub in the corner of your yard. Upon investigating I discovered your kitten.

I easily lured the kitten by shaking a bag of treats. Once the kitten got in to my arms he did not want to leave. So, I did what any rational person would do, I took him in to my house. It was a hot day and he was clearly distressed. I set him up in my home office with food and water (Which he devoured.) and a makeshift litter box (Crazy cat lady or savvy cat lady? You be the judge.). Feeling smug, I strode into the living room to see if anyone had arrived at your home when I was struck with panic. Had I just committed a crime? Did I just "catnap" your kitten? OMG.

When I called my friend Rachael, she confirmed my fears. "You don't want them calling the police on you," she said. Right! You call the police on your children. Surely you would not hesitate to call the police on me for stealing your "property." (Because let's face it, this kitten is nothing more than "property" to you.)

Even though I desperately wanted to re-home your kitten (Perhaps I tried in earnest to do this. Perhaps.), the thought of you calling the police got the best of me, so when you and five of your kids rolled up I ran outside.

Remember when I asked if you were missing your cat and you looked at me like "oh shit?"

Remember when I asked how long your cat had been missing and you said "A couple of days?"

Yeah, that's when I should have lied and said I thought I saw it running down the street.

The day before this incident I saw Little James and he asked me if he could "have" a SD card. No mention of the missing kitten. You ask me all kinds of inane questions, have no hesitation about asking to borrow things, but it never crossed your mind (or the minds of your children) to ask me if I had seen your missing kitten? Really?

Sadly for Hillbilly Kitten I didn't. I told you I found him while doing yard work and offered to return him. Did you thank me? No, you just stared at me. So yes, of course I asked you if you wanted him back. When you halfheartedly replied, "Uh, yeah..." I wanted to cry.

I returned your Hillbilly Kitten.

The next day, imagine that, he was missing again while Grandma and "new Grandpa" were babysitting. Your kids found him quickly.

However, I am now wondering where he his. Every time I go outside I look for him. My fear is he has gone "missing" (Meaning you left the door open hoping he would escape because you no longer want him. Let's be real - this is what is happening at your house) and is lost.

Next time (Please let there be a next time.) I see him, I will snatch him and make him my pet. Period. Poor thing did not want to let go of me when I returned him to you. Remember how you literally had to rip him off of me? Animals are smart. He knows your house of horrors is no place for him.

Please, for the love, stop getting pets.

I dislike you for many reasons. But I hate you for your lack of care of the furry children you voluntarily take in to your home.

You are the worst.

Seriously, STOP BUYING PETS ON CRAIGSLIST.

Please go back to the trailer park you came from soon.

Sincerely,
Jen

Sleep it up, babe! Or, why train travel is not that glamorous

Greetings from Amtrak!

I'm sitting on a train that has moved approximately 10 feet before stopping. I see a man out on the tracks with some sort of sledgehammer. He's a train official and not some random guy. He appears as though he's trying to clear something off the track. Great. I'm traveling to Chicago for work, not pleasure, and need to be pulled in to Union Station on time to get on a conference call with my boss. Ugh.

I'm a frequent flier and have seen just about everything one can see while flying the friendly skies. This whole train thing is a totally different ball game.

The stench of McDonald's breakfast hit me when I entered the tiny train station. Why? I giant family of Amish people who had just arrived before me via cab (I have no idea where these people cabbed in from!), clenching bags of McDonald's. Seriously? They made a cab driver take them to McDonald's on the way to the train station? To each their own. I must wonder if Chicago is their final destination or if they are traveling on....and I also wonder why the heck they are traveling. Some guy in the train station tried talking to one of the men and he wasn't going to have it so I guess we'll never know.

Then there's Mr Douche Bag and his girlfriend. They're sitting in two separate rows across the aisle from me. Yes, two separate rows. I wonder if they realize more people will be boarding the train. He took a row, directed her to the row behind him and said, "Sleep it up between here and Holland, babe." Who says that? Now he has spread himself over two seats, has his legs crossed and will not stop shaking his crossed leg. See photo:

 

I think I'm ready to return to the friendly skies.