Fucking Cat

Erica and I bought this rug recently. We ordered it in January. It was backordered until March. We got offers from Crate and Barrel to cancel the order because it was taking so long. But dear Smoking Baby did we want it. So we waited.

We've had it for three months now and every since it came in the door, I have hated this rug. For one, I hate the color. The photo is from my phone, so it's not super precise with tones, but it's a grey rug in a room of greens and oranges and I just feel like it's too light or something. I hate it.

Now, I do love the texture. It's super comfy and I sit on the floor a lot more than I used to. I even take naps there occasionally.

Of course, it's wool, so I end up having an asthma attack most times I do, but still. This isn't my problem with it.

This is the problem:And this:See those fur balls? They're absolutely everywhere.

This rug sheds so much that I started calling it Mittens. You know like, "Aww. Mittens!" as I pull a strand off my clothing or a sloppy, gross wad out of Chulo's mouth when he can't work it out himself. It's like having a cat. A cat that I really, really despise. Whenever I'm picking up the wads, I'm usually mumbling, "Fucking cat."

I feel like we might as well have a Golden Retriever. I get asthma from Golden Retrievers. God knows they shed like maniacs. But they're Golden Retrievers. Anyone who knows a Golden, knows what I'm talking about.

I knew this Golden Retriever once -- Casey. During the early nineties, Casey adopted an injured quail -- eventually dubbed Dan, of course. What kind of animal, bred to retrieve dead animals, adopts a live, injured quail and loves it back to health? At least that's the story I remember. My friend, Jay, who was Casey's owner may remember a different story (probably the accurate one -- I have a tendency to amend history in my mind), but that's what I think happened. I definitely know Casey had a quail during Dan Quayle's Vice Presidency and his family named the quail Dan. And, to me, that's story enough.

So, what I'm saying is that Golden Retrievers are way more worth the extra effort than this fucking feline rug that spreads its fur not only all over the interior of our place, but it trails into the hallway. I've found pieces in the yard. There are strands on my shirt right this very minute.

And now, Mittens, cat I never wanted, has developed the mange.Obviously, Chulo hates the rug as much as I do. He's the cause of Mittens' mange. He has begun to methodically rip the rug apart strand by strand. Erica thinks it's a conspiracy. She likes the rug. Or so she says. I believe that she hates the rug as much as I do but just has a harder time admitting that we simply made the wrong rug decision.