  Oh, how I love waking up to the uninvited sound of my cat puking in the morning. Seriously, I have to wake up to this shit an easy 3-4 times a week, and I’ll tell you: It’s fucking disgusting. Just merely being awoken pisses me off, let alone having to wake up and clean a pile of guts off the floor. And that’s just the beginning of the joy associated with these little fuckers. Have I ever told you the heartwarming story of how I abused my cute, little piss-filled dog?
It’s a rather splendid tale: One bright, January morning, I was awoken to the sound of my mother’s voice telling me glorious news. The Whitehall-Coplay School District was canceled. Ah, music to my ears. With a newfound contentment, I drifted happily back to sleep. The next time I awoke was about 11:00 a.m. Pissed off because it was morning and I was still tired, I dragged my heavy, half asleep body down the stairs and into my kitchen. A surprise waited for me there. Not just any surprise, mind you. It was the ghastly surprise of an oil spill-sized puddle of piss on the kitchen floor. This is definitely not my favorite chore to start my day out with. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my dog (Sammy) sitting innocently on the oval-shaped green mat placed underneath my sink. I immediately put two and two together: Puddle of piss (which I had to clean up) + Dog =…One really dead dog. Knowing this, I gave my dog a good, sound kick. The little shit growled at me. In response to this, I kicked him again, even harder this time.
He started to growl some more. Mumbling some obscenities to myself, my anger level steadily increased. In a fit of somewhat unnecessary rage, I chased him around the house while beating him triumphantly along the way with a sick mixture of my laughter and anger-filled screams. Well…I’ll spare you the other details. Let’s just say that this pint-sized demon is still afraid of me. The best part is, Sammy wasn’t actually the one who recklessly urinated on my mother’s floor. It was my other ill-behaved mutt, Lady.
Well, since Sam did nothing wrong, that labels me as an animal abuser. Not that that bothers me, mind you. I still maintain that the little bastard had it coming. Pets are definitely more of a hassle then they’re worth. For one, they’re extremely expensive. The astounding costs of vet bills, food, toys, and other necessities really add up. Sorry, but I’d rather use that money to purchase a swimming pool so I can drown myself. It’s better than putting up with that unfavorable nonsense pets bring. Second, there’s so much time involved with them. I’m a selfish person; I don’t want to waste my free time caring for something that someone else would be eagerly willing to do. Another thing, as I have previously stated, they’re repulsing. If I wanted a drooling, puking, pissing, shitting annoyance, I’d have a kid.
However, I’m fine with a clean, quiet, pet-free home environment, thank you. Don’t try to convince me otherwise. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t hate animals. In fact, I completely adore some of them. Some of them are so damn cute that I want to squeeze them until their eyes pop out of their tiny little heads. But that’s only because I don’t have to take them home. It’s all right; I’d rather leave all the unwanted responsibility to you. 
