…the tormentor is dead. That which walked among us for 75 years now resides in Hell.

The cat is going. And I am forever cured of wanting one of the things.

Right after we got in from a baby shower yesterday, Youngest Daughter threw a can of tuna at the cat and ran out of the house to her ex-addict conference… not to return until sometime today.
We knew this was bad, especially since the water gun had ceased having any effect whatsoever on the kitty from hell.

The bitch woke me up three times before midnight last night, yowling. I sprayed it with the water gun so many times it was soaked. And mad. Yeah, I know… but the water gun was mostly for revenge.

This morning - through EARPLUGS- it woke us at 6:00am. Well, the dog threw up in bed, poor thing, then it started, but only when I’d gotten back into bed!

After about an hour of this I took the thing out to the garage and chunked it into a small crate in the dark.

Then it really got pissed.

I figured, let it yowl for awhile, and when it calmed down I’d go in and take it back to its room… hahahahaaaaaa…..

I couldn’t think, work, or even drink coffee… the yowling was hideous! You’d think after six weeks of it my brain would come to terms with the noises, but no!
It wouldn’t calm down. So every once in a while I’d walk in there and say “NO”, which was the word I used with the water gun.
This disintegrated quickly into me kicking the cage like a maniac because when I walked in, the yowling got WORSE.

I’ve never seen a cat so angry.

And when it started going after me, trying to get my foot, or cords near the cage, and biting the cage… and screaming.

It scared me.

So I let it out after two hours of this nonsense. She walked out, yelling at me… I petted it gingerly, and lying like a rug, called it a good kitty.
I wanted to keep my eyeballs and ankles, you see.

She walked straight to YD’s room, where I could hear her using the litter box through the closed door, ‘talking’ the entire time.

It’s been an hour, and the she-devil is finally quiet.

And YD’s got 48 hours to get it the fuck out of this house. It’s been SIX long weeks of this crap. It’s gone.

Last night Dingad said: “We need to get a big dog that hates cats. Let it kill the cat, then get rid of the dog because it killed the cat.”
And this is why I love him…

Meanwhile, a look inside her room reveals… cat shit everywhere[!!!], old tuna fish/cat food tins stacked up[!!!], and she has ruined my little bedside table, putting cat food and water on it!!! BITCH! Nice, solid wood table. It was not hers to destroy.

The stench from her room is coming out from under the door and polluting the hall…
NO WONDER THE DOG THREW UP THIS MORNING.

Youngest Daughter is a fat, lazy, filthy excuse manufacturing bum. Her favorite phrase is “I forgot”. And she’s got this whole “Poor me, I’m just a clueless person trying to make my way in the world and get past my handicaps” shtick going that drives me crazy as a shithouse rat.
She’s been sober for 2.5 freaking years! Move on, already!

She had big plans, or talked about them, anyway. Followed up on zero. Said she wanted a job, but only went on one interview, to a company - whose business she knows nothing about!

Apparently she thinks that all she needs to do is lie abed all day and night reading and a job will come her way magically.

I told her the other day that I’m having a severe case of deja vu - I could swear she’s 15 again instead of 30. She’s acting out the exact patterns of so long ago… Wanders into the kitchen in the afternoons… “What’s for dinner?” or “Are you cooking tonight?” Throws her dirty dishes into the sink so I can clean those up as well…. Doesn’t offer assistance in any facet of the house/yard maintenance… and she IS getting free room and board.

When she first got here SIX weeks ago, she asked, and I told her, SURE, she could trim the trees for me if she wanted. [She's done yard work professionally before. Think of any job an illegal mexican would do... she's done it.]
Has one palm frond fallen to the ground by her hand? I think we all know the answer to that one.

The filth; my god the filth. Her decrepit truck, that she basically ran into the ground… we’ve replaced a tire, lights, wiring, etc… just in these past six weeks. Today I looked into the truck for the first time… You can’t see the floorboards, in fact the trash comes up to and overflows onto the seats… remnants of fast food meals, old cans and bottle, cigarettes… I almost threw up.

Her room is much the same, sans the cigs… but add an overflowing pan of CAT SHIT and empty cat food cans piled up and falling over. The stench is tremendous.
It’s disrespectful in the extreme.

I don’t mind helping someone who helps themself, but a grown woman who reads romance novels all day and night is something entirely else.

We need a come to Jesus meeting, ASAP.

Five weeks ago today Antonia graced us with her presence… and is here still, like a squatter trying to claim part of our home as her own.

She sleeps. She eats. She plays on her computer and reads. Mostly she just lazes around like… well, a lazy squatter.

She glides in and around the place like a cessna trying to fly under radar.
Yesterday when she left the house for a few hours I wondered if she had gone to look for a job…. but found out later that no, she had grown tired of the house and decided to go to the beach for a swim.

The woman is 29 freaking years old.

My rules:
1. I am not buying her cigarettes.
2. I am not buying her Mountain Dew.

I am also not talking about the loud mouthed cat she brought with her, though I do dream of wrapping my hands around that little reverberating throat…