Why I love my cat:

He is my morning buddy. I eat my bowl of cereal and he sits on the edge of the computer desk and patiently waits for me to finish my cereal. Then I give him the bowl and let him lick the milk out of the bottom. Every day.

He ALWAYS greets me when I come home. He stands on the edge of the bar by the door that comes in from the garage. He never misses. Ever.

He also runs to the window and watches us leave every morning, (probably because he can't wait for us to leave so he can turn on the TV, watch some soaps, and sleep all day in his kitty underwear. Oh wait, that's me.)

When I watch a movie on my mega-theater, he is always there, sitting on the leg rest between my feet, curled up in a ball or attentively watching the big screen. He is partial to Xbox and That 70s Show.

He is a beautiful cat. All cat owners say that, but this cat honestly is one of the prettier ones I've seen.

He always jumps up on our bed and does this strange little "Scratch and Roll" routine. It is truly bizarre. But I love it.

We have a game we play in the morning. He crouches on the end of the sofa in the dark waiting on me to come by. As I pass, he springs into action, leaping up the sofa onto the back and takes a playful bat at my arm as I pass. He never uses his claws, at least here. THe rest of the time, watch out.


WHY I HATE MY CAT:

He tears up my loaves of bread and sandwiches. Each time I make a sandwich, if I don't immediately hide it or eat it, Sydney quickly pounces on it and destroys it. He doesn't eat it- that doesn't interest in him. He's just a little food nihilist who greatly enjoys seeing me suffer in hunger.

He eats ALL THE FRIGGING TIME. He is a hog, not a cat. And I spend TONS on food. Way too freaking much.

His poop is toxic. I mean, awful. We keep his litter box in the laundry room, and when he goes, the entire house reeks of cat-poop. Nauseating, pungent, and so rank that I cry when I have to change it. That is my job- I am the cat poop changer. Natalie, since she is pregnant, cannot mess with the litter, so that leaves me to do it all the time. The funny part is that when we got Sydney, she swore that SHE would do the litter. She PROMISED. So who does it? Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

Sydney has broken a fundamental law of physics: Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only altered. This cat produces more poop than the food he eats.

Normal cat:
1 food=1 poop
2 food= 2 poop

My cat
1 food=2 poops
2 food=4 poops
And so on, exponentially increasing each time. I'm afraid if I ever left the food bag open he'd get into it and the entire city of Carl Junction would be covered in poop. Sometimes his litter box looks like the Himalayas, massive green mountains protruding up from the desert below.

Finally, the massive wads of puke. He loves to eat rubber bands. Then he loves even more to throw them up.

ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

And even worse, ALL OVER MY CUHS BASKETBALL PULLOVER this morning.

It was awful. Simply.....awful.

People laugh and tell me it is training for having a baby.

If my baby girl leaps onto the counter, pukes all over my jacket, poops enough to choke a blue whale, and sheds her hair all over my sandwich, I'm gonna scream.

But I wouldn't trade him for anything.

Except a TIVO.