Actually, I have two. Frank and Starbuck. Starbuck is so named because Battlestar Galactica is the greatest thing to ever happen to television and Starbuck is the greatest thing to happen to Battlestar Galactica. Frank is named Frank because my ex has the imagination and sense of humor of an empty cardboard box. This is Frank:
Frank is a good kitten; impossibly cute, hilariously timid and, for lack of a better word, a very polite little guy. Look at him, all sittin there. Good kitty. Goooood kitty.
And then...there's Starbuck.
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He's the more social of the two and definitely the more vocal. He's also the more evil.
People don't believe me, because he's small. But they don't live with him. They don't see all the things he does to drive me crazy. He's rude. Selfish. Pushy. Demanding. And gets into everything. Evil.
I leave a box of kleenex out, 'Buck is shredding them. I fill their water bowl, 'buck knocks it over. He gets up in the windows and knocks down the blinds. Gets behind the entertainment center and unplugs all the cords. Hops up on the counter and eats my food. EVIL
So. Like I said, one of my kittens is a fucking asshole. Early this morning my alarm went off and I spent a little too much time relaxing in bed afterward, causing me to have to rush through the rest of my routine and get to my workout. I drank my milk, ate my toast and off I went. When I walked out the door, I was in just enough of a hurry that I left my glass on the counter top, rather than putting it in the sink. Frank didn't mind one bit. He manged to go about his kitty life without paying that glass any mind whatsoever. Frank is polite enough that I'm sure he'd have offered to wash it for me, but for his lack of thumbs. Starbuck, on the other hand, needed to know what that thing was all about. He knows he's not supposed to be on the counters. And I KNOW he knows, because when he gets up there and I notice, he hops down and runs away the moment I stand up to go get him. Bastard.
So Starbuck spends the next hour thinking about that glass. But because he's evil, he waits until I get home to do anything about it. I walk in, sit down and take off my shoes. I like to sit quietly for a bit when I get home from my workouts and just kind of feel everything buzzing. It's nice. But my reverie this morning was ruined by The Yellow One. He waited till I was nice and relaxed, then hopped up on the counter, meowed to get my attention, then--looking me right in the eye--he reaches out one little paw and casually knocks the glass off the edge of the counter. Shatter. That was a matched set you little cock hole.
Swearing ensued. Starbuck ran and hid where ever it is that he goes when I'm pissed at him. Frank, bless his little heart, ran to his favorite hiding place for when things get loud: under the kitchen table. I haven't got the heart to tell him that I can totally see him under there and could reach him if I really wanted to. I swept up the remains of the poor glass, dumped them in the trash and went to work before I skinned Starbuck.
My first three deliveries of the day totaled $212 and some odd change. They resulted in exactly $3.00 in tips. And then things got dead. No deliveries, no phone calls, nothing. Great day. So when things die down like that, they send us out "couponing": walking door to door and putting coupons in mailboxes, taped to doors, or handed to employees of businesses in an effort to drum up a little business. I couponed a couple of residential blocks, then went to the mall. I handed coupons out to a few of the stores then went to the food court for a sandwich. The lousiness of the day had me in such a foul mood that I decided to walk around for a bit to try and blow off a little steam. I walked to the upper level and stood, leaning against a railing, looking down into the lower level of the center court. The mall has an easter display set up, with some poor schmoe in an Easter Bunny suit for the kiddies to get their picture taken with. Does that ever go well? I mean, it's always some kid who's too small to know what the hell is going on and has no idea why mom is handing him off to some gigantic monstrosity that looks like HR Geiger and Walt Disney had sex in your nightmares. They can't pay the guy in that suit enough to deal with all the screaming he must endure in the course of a day. Plus, it's the Goddamned Easter Bunny. What does he SAY to kids? It's not like Santa, where you can tell him what you want and he'll lie and say ok. No one gets presents from the Easter Bunny. It would be all:
"What do you want for Easter, little boy?"
"An X-Box!"
"...how about you just color some eggs and I'll stick them under the couch for you?"
Anyway, I'm watching the horror-fest below and up comes this lady with a baby. Thing can't be more than 18 months old, but I didn't get to count its rings or anything, so I'm not certain. She puts baby onto Harvey's lap, and steps back so the kid running the camera can take a picture. I'm surprised when the baby doesn't start crying. He actually seems pretty cool with the whole thing, except that he's not at all interested in looking at the camera. So the camera girl starts doing all the stupid thing that people who photograph kids for a living do to get their gnat-like attention spans to focus. She's making "brrrr" sounds. Squeaking a toy. Snapping fingers. Calling the kids name in ultra-high pitched voices. But baby's not having it; he's just not looking at the camera.
He's looking at me.
I've always thought it was kind of unnerving how babies can stare at something and they never seem to blink enough, until it gets to the point where your eyes start to water on their behalf. And this baby has got his lidless stare focused up right into my face. I've locked eyes with an infant and he won't stop staring. Mom and camera girl are clapping and singing and "yoo hoo"ing and all he does is keep right on staring at me and all I can keep thinking of is how this baby is willfully ignoring the person who cares for it, just like Starbuck and why won't this baby look at its mother and why won't this baby listen and why the HELL won't he just GET OFF THE GODDAMN COUNTER...
And that's when it happened. All that frustration just bubbled right on up and my arms shot out completely of their own accord. Yes, I said arms. Plural. I whipped out both guns and gave the kid a double deuce.
Look, I'm not saying it was my greatest moment as a human being. Part of me felt bad the moment it happened. Appalled, even. So was the lady who had been standing a few feet away from me.
"Did...you just flip off that baby?"
"What? No. I...know the guy in the suit. I was flipping HIM off." Like that's better: I flipped off the Easter Bunny. No worries.
She gave me a look like I had just farted on her grandmother and walked away. I went back to handing out coupons. Eventually things picked up at work and it turned into an ok day that mercifully ended early. I came home, kicked off my shoes and flopped into my chair. Starbuck hopped up into my lap. He looked at me, purring slightly, then dropped his head under my chin and nuzzled my neck. All's well again. For now.
And I'm not going to lie: flipping off that baby helped.
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