The Cat Story.

OK! I had brunch with my girlfriends the other day and they all agreed that I needed to start posting my dating stories. So here goes. This is going to be a long one!

One guy- I shall call him Bob- was (somewhat) worthy of more than just a first date. So we had a couple. We had a few dinners out, we ordered in once and watched prime time together, and, um, we got to know each other. Our entire relationship progressed via text messages. I didn't want anything more because I am a job-snob and he has a bad job and no ambition.

So a couple of weeks ago, Bob tells me he's taking in the 2 cats that his co-worker can't keep anymore. Aaaw. He gets them on a Tuesday. That Thursday, he calls me-- yeah, red flag number one. He proceeds to tell me some boring story about how his super and landlord need to come in and inspect his apartment. And, oh yeah, he's not allowed to have cats. Well, he's allowed with permission, but for some un-explained reason, he didn't get permission. So, can he ask me a favor? My head says no. Like, immediately. Bob and I are sooooo far from the favor stage of things. My mouth asks what the favor is. Bob asks if I'll take his cats for Friday to prevent them from getting evicted and having to go to a shelter and dying a horrible death. Bob didn't phrase it like that, but he did actually say, "jokingly," things like, "feel free to say no, but it'll be their blood on your hands if they go to a shelter." Um.

So he prayed on my weakness-- animals. And, you know, not having animal blood on my hands. So I said OK, and when can you bring them over? Silence.

Bob: "Oh, I can't bring them over."

Me: "What?"

Bob: "I have no way of getting them there."

Me: "Don't you have cat carriers? How'd they get to your house?"

Bob: "The guy brought them. In his car."

Me: "Uuuum. . . just, like, running loose in his car?"

Bob: "Yeah."

Me: "Ah."

Bob: "Sooooo . . . don't you have a car?"

What? Don't I have a car? Oh my god. Why the story even progresses past this point still amazes and angers me-- clearly, I am a sucker and a pushover, at least when it comes to cats. But still! So I say, "Well, I actually have to move my car tomorrow for street cleaning, at 9:30, so I can come then." (I know that Bob leaves for work at 10am). He says that he actually has to leave for work at 9am on Fridays. Long story short, I work it out that I'll have to get out of bed a little more than an hour earlier than I normally would so that I can go to his place and pick up the damn cats. Bob thoughtfully offers at this point to let me come get the cats that night. Yeah, its like 10pm and I'm already in bed. I tell him he has to come with me back to my place to help me bring the cats-- loose cats-- to my apartment. He says, "Sure. And then, like, what? You can just give me a ride into the city?" Oh my god. Words cannot even describe the feeling of incredulous disbelief at this dude's sheer lack of shame.

So I do this. I get up early, drive to his house, get his cats (who are somewhat f-ed up looking, so probably would never get adopted at a shelter), bring them to my house and we leave for work. All day at work all I can think about is coming home to an apartment filled with blood, tufts of fur, cat corpses, and ruined furniture, because although the initial introduction between Bob's cats and my cats went OK, you just never know. Oh! And Bob and I also discussed when the cats could be returned. It's revealed that, due to our schedules, the only time Bob and I can meet to return his cats is Sunday afternoon. Part of this is due to the fact that I had told Bob that I had plans Friday night, but I really didn't. I just didn't want to spend it with him. So Bob says, "Looks like you're keeping my cats until Sunday!" A**hole.

So I already made up my mind that I was going to return his cats Friday. At 7:45pm, I text him asking if the inspection was done. Bob calls and says that the super came but not the landlord-- the person who cares about the cat policy. The super told Bob that the landlord "might" come on Saturday. "So . . . do you want to return my cats now or Sunday?" What do you think, Bob? I say, "I'd like to return them now." Bob argues a little due to the fact that the whole reason I took them in the first place was now postponed until Saturday. I say I don't care, I need the cats gone, and tell the landlord you're cat-sitting for a friend. And what happens if the landlord doesn't come Saturday? Did he expect me to just keep the cats indefinitely? (I'm thinking yes, yes he would.) He says, and I can just imagine his stupid puppy-dog eyes as he says this, that he'll figure something out. Yeah genius, you will. He then has the gall to say, "I really want to inconvenience you as little as possible." I say, "too late." He then gets defensive. Defensive! He says, "Oh, so what, you had to get up a little early?" Oh my god. This dude had no f-ing concept of how inappropriate and inconveniencing his "favor" was. For Christ's sake, I feel bad asking my sister to feed my cats for me when I'm on vacation.

So I tell Bob that I have "postponed" my Friday plans a bit so that I can deal with this situation. He proceeds to pretend to figure out how to get his cats back without inconveniencing me ("I guess I can borrow your cat carriers . . . and make 3 trips . . .") Because, as is by now painfully obvious, I am a sucker and a pushover, but mainly just to get the whole situation over with as soon as possible, I just drive Bob and his cats home.

A couple of days later, I write Bob a nice email, not mentioning the cat story, stating that I think it would be best for me to stop seeing him. The real cherry on the cake of the story is that Bob texts me back, and his text says: 'Guess I shouldn't have asked you to do me that favor with my cats.' WOW! Would that be your first case of introspection ever, Bob?

Lesson of the day: Both Bob and I are assholes.