An ode to Budweiser

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I despise the way he looks at me. I hate everything about him, from his head to his feet. If there is a divine being, why would he see fit that I spend my days with this sluggish, fat, jerk. At least I am able to pull my weight around the house. What does he do? The others fail to see it. They think his aggression is amusing. They have never borne the brunt of it. My other roommates, who spend their days at work or school leave me at home in our modest apartment with him. I try to be nice, to make the relationship work, but he slaps it away with contempt.

It was my sister who first brought him in. If it weren’t for her generosity, who knows where he would be and how different life could have been? We feed him and keep a roof over his head. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think He would prefer being outside. For all our efforts, he shows absolutely no sign of appreciation. No affection whatsoever. He nags at us in the morning, he swipes at us when not even provoked, and he spills his food all over the floor and doesn’t bother to pick it up! I now have numerous scars and wounds all over my hands from his raging fits. Buddy, they call him. I call him Fat Jerk.

Buddy, or Bud, is of course short for Budweiser — that stupid monster of a cat brought in from the country. He started as playful and cute as a kitten, but then became aggressive and mean as an adult cat two years later. The others thought it might be just a phase, but it is too late now. Housecats are normally grateful to be in a house with a loving family, but not Budweiser. He just struts (or waddles more like) around the house like he owns the place, disobeying every rule possible when our backs are turned. When we try to play with him he just grabs hold with his claws and bites with his freakishly sharp teeth. He hates me especially, because I’m new to the household. My roommates say that he’s just playing, but so what if he is? He still shows no sign of appreciation and I can never tell if he’s just playing or if he’s really being mean. There is no difference.

The cat must be growing on them. Why else would they view his antics with such leniency? He won’t be growing on me anytime soon. I tell them they should have gotten a dog. Dogs are so much happier. No matter what you do to a dog, it still wants to please you. But no, dogs aren’t allowed in the apartment. At least the cat doesn’t tear up the furniture or use the carpet as a toilet. And he’s neutered so he doesn’t spray anywhere. Maybe being aggressive is just a minor inconvenience. Maybe Buddy’s not so bad after all . . . No, he’s still a jerk.