My cat is an asshole photo   Here’s a treat for you, a wonderful true story found on a Facebook group called: My Cat is an Asshole. I hope you find it as funny as I did. Jeni is a fine writer, and you know I love great writing. I left a comment stating that she should turn this into a children’s book. Thanks, Jeni, for permission to post here. Enjoy!

Story time, kids. Pull up your chairs.

By- Jeni Wilson Stevenson

I sold my media room couches this week. The sweetest lady bought them and picked them up on Wednesday morning before I left for work. She assured me that her son would be coming home later this week and he could help her get them into the house. Until then, she planned to leave them in the trailer on FM1187 (a very busy road for you out-of-towners). The past two nights, I got home from work at midnight and went straight to bed. (A fact that will be important in a minute.) Fast forward to this morning when I checked my phone at 5:56am and saw that I had a missed call at 1:45am from the lady who bought my couches. Uh... okay?? I immediately listened to the voicemail where an exhausted and clearly frazzled voice on the other end sputtered five words that will be permanently etched in my brain until Jesus comes back... "Are you missing a cat??" My heart stopped. I woke up from a sleep-deprived brain fog with the lightning speed of a home-bound kid on the last day of school. I did a quick mental inventory. Daiquiri and Tito were in bed with me. I could see Martini on the cat tree. SCOTCH! WHERE WAS SCOTCH??!!?? And then it instantly hit me and I knew what had happened. Scotch is my 13-year-old senior orange tabby with a heart of gold, but the bravery of the cowardly lion. Any time someone comes over, he hides in either my closet or inside the underneath lining of the sofa. THE SOFA I JUST SOLD TWO DAYS AGO. This insane feline had managed to hang on for dear life (with no front claws, mind you) as this sofa was lifted, tilted, turned, rotated, strapped down, sped down Interstate 20, and left unattended for 36 hours on the side of a busy thoroughfare. He then continued to cling to his last tether to home as the sofa was once again lifted, tilted, turned, rotated, and plopped into its new home, unfamiliar to Scotch and inhabited by a canine. Scotch then stayed perfectly quiet and hidden away until the cover of darkness last night when he finally felt comfortable enough to venture out of his hidey hole and explore his new home. He stealthily made his way into this poor lady's bedroom, where he decided that a cuddle might make him feel better. He proceeded to jump on the bed and snuggle up to his new owner who groggily reached down to pet what she assumed was her dog. Only her dog felt like a cat and started purring. She screamed. Scotch jumped. Her husband screamed. Scotch hid. Calamity ensued for a few panic-driven minutes while this lady chased my petrified senior kitty who led her on an adrenaline-fueled chase with a sudden burst of kitten-like energy. This poor lady finally cornered Scotch and threw him outside, assuming he was a stray who got in while they were moving the couches. Scotch, having not been outside in 12.5 years until his recent joy ride down I-20, sat on the porch looking bewildered while they stared at each other in the dark at 1:30am. Thankfully, as she collected her wits and pondered this grossly overweight orange beast in front of her home, she remembered seeing four cat bowls and cat beds at my house and postulated that, perhaps, I had inadvertently sold her my cat for $300, stashed inside a couch. Thankfully, she decided to scoop poor Scotch up from the front porch and bring him in while she investigated. I called her back immediately at 6am while frantically flailing around simultaneously for the light switch and my bra. I asked when I could come pick him up and she responded with an emphatic, "NOW!!!!" I was halfway out the door before she had even texted me the address. Needless to say, Scotch is home. My blood pressure is slowly returning to normal. And the other three cats are taking polite turns sniffing Scotch's butt in what I can only assume is a feline method of communicating trauma. Pictured above is the offender, shortly after his reunification with Tito "getting the scoop." Best. Cat. Mom. Ever.