About 6 months ago I met “Kent” on OKCupid. He was new in town and had just moved here from the South to follow his soon-to-be ex and children. I agreed to meet him at a bar for some pizza, beer and football.
Maybe it was the 3 Blue Moons I drank, or his Southern accent, or his utter devotion to Morrissey, but I was hooked. Before I knew it we were furiously making out right there at the bar, much to the amusement of the bartender and other patrons that we gleefully informed of the fact that this was our very first date. When I found out he lived just 3 blocks away from me, I was SURE that this guy was perfect for me.
A few nights later, we made plans to meet at his house to “watch movies” which, as you all know, is code for pretending that we are not just going to hook up and that this is a “real” date. I got to his house and he greeted me at the door wearing a pair of old sweat pants and a t-shirt with holes in it. I wasn’t impressed, especially since I had made it a point to dress casually nice and a bit sexy. Also greeting me at the door was a menagerie of animals – a couple of dogs and cats that belonged to his roommate.
I’m a total animal lover. In fact, I was just a cat or two shy of officially becoming a crazy cat lady in my 20’s so I had no problem whatsoever with the fact that he shared his space with a small petting zoo. But these animals were….special. His roommate was a collector of down-on-their luck types, the ones that got left behind in shelters or weren’t adoptable. Admirable. But not conducive to sexy time.
While we sat there on the couch and started the movie, one of the dogs came and practically sat on my foot. It was an adorable chow mix type, all fluffy, and I swear to god, smiling. I reached out to pet it and he warned me not to because IT DOESN’T LIKE BEING TOUCHED. All right then. I withdrew my hand, but the dog didn’t move. It sat there, smiling, on my foot just staring at me. Awkward.
It was about this time that one of the cats (who did let me pet it when I walked in) started meowing. Not just conversational meowing, but this long, drawn out, PAINFUL sound. Cat lovers around the world know this type of meow very well. It’s the one you get when you haven’t cleaned out kitty’s box and they are getting ready to drop a deuce. Figuring that the roommate, who just got home would take care of it, I gave the poor little guy another scratch behind the ear and focused my attention back to my date and the horrible movie he had put on for us to “watch”. Kitty threw me a “What the FUCK lady” look and proceeded to walk over to the entertainment center. There, right in front of me and my oblivious date, who was trying like hell to round second, the cat took a giant, steaming shit, all while LOCKING EYES with me.
Disengaging myself from my date, who had miraculously formed several extra sets of hands sit we sat down, I pointed out what had happened. I then saw him go through all the stages of grief :
- Denial – “No. There’s no way he just did that. Are you sure?”
- Guilt – “Maybe I should have offered to clean out the cat box while I was home today doing nothing.”
- Anger – “That piece of shit. He did that on purpose.”
- Depression – ” I’m so, so sorry that just happened.”
- Acceptance – “I guess I better go get my roommate to clean this up.”
The roommate was appropriately apologetic and cleaned up the mess and got the hell out of dodge in as speedy a manner as one can. The moment she was out of sight (or maybe even a slight second before) he had his tongue shoved down my throat, sweat pant clad leg draped over my lap with the expectation that we would just pick up where we had left off. You know – before the fucking cat had shit on the floor right in front of me. For the life of me, I just couldn’t let go of what happened. That, combined with his sloppy, artless kissing, the fact that he was literally dry-humping me, and the creepy don’t-pet-me dog STILL sitting there staring at me, caused the untimely loss of my lady boner (moment of silence, please).
As much as I wanted to stay and be mauled and finish the end of the riveting movie “Trick or Treat” I just had to go. It was super late. (10:30 on a Friday night is late, isn’t it?) Anyway, I pulled the old yawn-stretch-boy-I’m-tired move and made my way to the front door. He walked me there and went in for one last fantastically awful kiss and I practically ran to my car and drove the 3 blocks home.
For the next couple of weeks, I avoided his calls and texts. Yes, I know. I employed the fade but how in the world do you tell someone you don’t want to go out with them again because you now associate them with cat shit? So fellas – please for the love of god clean out the litter box before you invite your lady over. A cat shitting on your living room floor may be a casual, everyday occurrence to you, but it just might keep you from getting laid.