effing cat

98% of the time, I love my cat. The other 2% of the time, I fucking hate her. In my kitchen, above my cabinets, I have a space in between the top of the cabinets and the ceiling - I have no idea what it is called - but it's there, and I decorated it with stuff. Mostly empty bottles of wine Michael and I have shared. Two little bottles of champagne that I saved from our wedding. Decorative pictures. A big letter "M". I even hung Christmas lights up there, they look really good at night. 

So why am I talking about the damn space in between my cabinets and ceiling and what does it have to do with my fucking cat?! Well my little princess loves to be a cat and run along my very nicely placed emptied wine bottles, for none other reason than being a fucking cat. Well tonight she was up there, like usual, and I was about to sit down to edit some pictures for some newly finished purses I just made, all until I heard a big CRASH! The fucking cat knocked something down. I figured it was a bottle. I thought it's ok, as long as it's not the really important one. I have quiet a few up there. She already broke the second most important bottle a few months ago - a bottle of wine we swiped from Michael's homecoming Marine Corps Ball. She wouldn't have broken the most important bottle up there. 

I ran into my kitchen, I saw a broken mess, I was immediately angry. I doubled back, ran into the garage to grab my latter. The little bitch was still up there. I got the latter, I tried to grab her by the nape of the neck, no luck. I wanted to ring her neck, but no luck. As I was getting off the latter, I look over to my stove. My brand new Samsung stove that I bought when I moved into my house. My stove that costs just about $1000.... There is a fucking crater in the glass top. I started bawling. I'm trying to do this. I am trying to do this on my own. And this fucking cat. AHHH!!!!!! I screamed. 

Whhhyyyy does this shit happen? Hasn't karma already had its fun with me?! This is just one more thing that I do not want to deal with. But whatever, its just a stove top. It can be replaced. However, an empty bottle of wine you shared with your dead husband, cannot. 

Oh yes, that bottle of wine. That bottle of wine that we shared on our second wedding anniversary BROKE. That fucking cat (that we pick out 3 years ago this month) broke the one and only wine bottle that I cared about. Frei Brothers Chardonnay - 2007. The cheapest bottle of white at The Melting Pot. We felt cool ordering a whole bottle of wine. When the server brought over the bottle and poured a little bit for Michael to taste it, he acted out all the things a wine professional might do. Yes, he swirled the glass, and he smelled it. Did he know what he was looking for - nope. But he did it anyway. He said it was fine and we drank it. It definitely was not the best wine I have ever had, but sharing it with Michael only made it so much sweeter. When I realized it was that bottle of wine I screamed again. I walked into my living room and just fell on to the floor bawling my eyes out. I am still in tears. And for a few minutes I wanted to kill my cat. I even went looking for her. She better be thanking her lucky stars that I did not find her.

It's probably not good that I put so much value on things like that. But how can you not? Any other normal married couple can just go to the store, buy the same exact stupid bottle of wine, pop it open and drink it together. We can't. Never again will we be able to celebrate a wedding anniversary and share another stupid cheap bottle of wine again. So the moral of the story here is... don't get a cat, they are evil and they will break your important things.