Ladyfingers: Crazy cat lady

In light of the recent news that Chicken Soup for the Soul Entertainment, Inc., is filing for IPO after being backed by Ashton Kutcher (oh, you didn’t hear?), I have decided to come up with a chicken noodle recipe of my own. Happiness, inspiration and hope are great and all, but gloom, reality and pessimism have the potential to be so much funnier.

Also, the thought of the Chicken Soup roundtable reading my story while huffin’ and puffin’, and/or dry-heaving makes me giggle like the adorable little troll I am. Plus, double-plus for the millennials, they would never let me say “fuck” in there. As far as I’m concerned, the most valuable lessons that life will teach you involve the word “fuck” in some form or another.  So with that, I present to you: Chicken Soup for the Asshole: You’ve Cat to be Kitten Me.  

It was a smoldering, hot afternoon in the middle of July. I was making my way to the car whilst making significant progress on relieving a recently acquired wedgie. My upper lip was sweating, which was nothing new. Another day, another… LITTER OF ABANDONED KITTENS?! Suddenly I was surrounded by the sweet whispers of Enrique Iglesias: Let me be your hero. I had no other choice; well, I probably had a few other choices, but I had to save those fucking kittens.

So there I was, face-to-asphalt deep in some kitty rescuing. My position: reminiscent of a belly-flopping snow angel. My plan: place helpless kittens into a box, take them to the closest veterinarian, (insert Step #3 here), and become a hero. My reality: I placed five unsuccessful calls, I had a box full of newborn kittens in the passenger seat, and I was full-blown sobbing. I went from thinking I was saving these precious kitty angels to believing I would be the reason for their cold, cardboard-enclosed death.

At that point, my original plan was no more. I did what any adult in this situation would do and I called my mother. No answer. I tried again. No answer. AW. HELL. NAW. What in the shit is this woman doing that she’s given me the reject button twice?  I tried one more time, but this time I was preparing my reprimand… something like, “What if I was dying, Ma?! What if you didn’t get to talk to me one last time because you were in child’s pose?!” Fortunately for her, I quickly realized I had no time to scold. Instead, I briefly informed her that I had pulled another “Sabrina move” and it would behoove her to tell me what to do, considering how close I was to hyperventilation. Not sure if you can tell, but I handle stressful situations like a boss; a shitty, anxiety-ridden boss.

I won’t get into the details following the phone call with my mother. Long story short: the kittens are in better and much safer hands. Also, I have come to the conclusion that I am not be ready to have a baby yet. I say this not because I was in the middle of choosing what color turkey baster I wanted or anything; I’m just saying this experience traumatized me enough to make me hold-off a couple years until my Xanax prescription is ready.

May I take the opportunity to also point out the perks of being a lesbian? Reason #354: Unexpected and unbeknownst inseminations are a thing of the past (or past life, depending on who is reading this). Procreation is beautiful and so is my vagina. I have decided to focus on the upkeep of the latter, but I digress. Spoiler alert: I’ve decided to not submit this story to Chicken Soup for the Soul Entertainment, mostly because I think this is ripe for a Lifetime movie and partly because I’m not quite sure if Ashton deserves it after Punk’n all those innocent celebrities.

Lastly, I believe it would be worth noting that this traumatic experience was just last week and I’ve gone through a couple life changes since. I’ve learned how to care for newborn kittens, including how to help them use the bathroom by DJ Scribble-Scrabblin’ their newborn kitten buttholes – one of the more uncomfortable moments of my life. I made it, Ma. I have also decided that on the dawn of my next payday, I will become a [one] shareholder of CSSE. “Why”, you ask? I’m giving Mr. Kutcher a second chance. If things end up going our way, I’ll put my IVF-baby through college and write about the struggle of it all, starting with the kittens. I’ll blow every fucking mind that reads Chicken Soup for the 2038 Soul.