By Julia Schmitt
As my honor code signature eerily lingers on campus—along with the Listerine cap freshman me shamelessly took shots from—I feel compelled to honesty. I want to fucking drop kick my cat. He shall remain nameless because I am an ~intentional woman who lights up every room I walk into~, but I’m pretty sure he invented ask.fm, the Electoral College and Derby Days. Some say such matters should be dealt with (lol rip delt!) privately, yet in the deliciously ironic words of Richard Nixon’s inaugural address, “I ask you to share with me today the majesty of this moment.”
- Threaten to sell him for parts.
Start off with a bang and threaten him with the cruel realities of the 21st century bartering scene! Hey, he’s got four top of the line cat knees, and you are still on the run from your nine years of unpaid membership fees to Mary Kate and Ashley’s Fun Club. Don’t hate the player, hate the game.
- Rig his Ancestry.com to inform him he is indeed a stray, and his mother deserted him at birth.
So he’s slithering back to you to refill his dish again? I don’t know about you, but between this and my priest, I am tired of being emotionally manipulated by the men in my life. Sure you just hung a “Come to Me” banner in front of your Greek house, but wash your hands before he gets too clingy. Let him know he was never part of your family in the first place—or any family for that matter!
- Enroll him in the “Scared Straight” program.
It’s another Tuesday morning, and you catch him on yet another walk of shame after a night of war crimes with a fucking mole carcass?! Enough is enough. Take that douche canoe to Cyprus, where there are arguably more stray cats than people. An immersive (lol rip Immersion!) experience in one of their feral cat communes will show that rat bastard just how offensive his existence is!
- Convince him 9/11 is his birthday so that when he asks everyone to celebrate he comes off as a total dick.
You could also just give him up for Lent.
- Start an online movement to abolish him.
There is a chance this might instead ignite a tsunami of virtue signaling regarding people still liking your cat. There is a larger chance everyone who joins the movement and stops personally funding your cat will still go to all of your cat’s parties. It might also turn out that your university is funded by people who really like your cat—like really, really like your cat. A peculiar situation for a cat, but what a fun story!