Women!, Part I

(this is ancient, from 2001 or something... but I really want to do something with it, someday)
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"No! Dammit, you don't understand and you never will!" Pushing herself away from me, Jaime leaped from the couch to the floor, her nails digging into the beer-stained green shag as she hissed at me. I groaned, biting back my retort as I watched the usual scene, her chunky form dwindling as her angry blue gaze melted into a blank amber stare. Honestly, how can anything be worked out when she won't even listen? I picked her up and carried her, ignoring the claws aimed at my face (so like her!) as I walked into our room. Swinging open the door of the cat carrier with a crash, I stuffed her in, muttering to myself. Some people just enjoy their curses too much!

Maybe I should explain. See, a few months ago, after making her usual inane weekly household purchases (I keep telling her we don't need fruit-shaped soap, since the regular kind gets my arse just as clean, but does she listen?), she was backing out of her hard-won parking space at Ye Olde Christmastime Wal-Mart of Doom when she hit one of those damned teenagers - you know, the ones who wander uselessly around the mall like vegetarian flies on a dog? As it turns out, he was the son of one of those "New Age" idiots, and after a long court battle that apparently didn't satisfy her (even if it cost me a pretty penny!), that bitch came along with her bag of bones, "sanctified" poking stick, and various other tools of the trade that look like nothing to me. I recognized the conniving look in her glaring eyes, but Jaime always was a bit weak of heart and strong of conscience - peh, women. Anyway, ever since then, there's been this stupid cat thing happening.

At first, it was a full-moon sort of deal, and that was fine; I already put up with her whinings and yowlings once a month, so what did it matter? But it just keeps getting worse - now, whenever a co-worker upsets her, or we fight, or her mother calls from Boston, or pretty much anything else happens that displeases her, there she goes, into the fur! I mean seriously, wouldn't you call that an emotional crutch? Her boss is sick of it, and let me tell you, so am I.

I tried to get her fixed the last time this happened. We had been arguing about the phone bill - do Internet friends really need that much time?! - when she pulled this, and she seemed willing to stay catty for days. So I called in one of my old high school buddies, who once told me that he had become a certified priest after a night of debauchery in 1996, but he wasn't any help at all. He had never actually met Jaime, so he just kept going, "Your girlfriend, huh? Looks like a cat to me! Or is she the only one who'll date you? Haw!" I tried to convince him, but of course, that wench refused to do anything other than purr and act innocent. And of course, the moment he left - still laughing at me, I might add! - she was herself again, pretending to remember nothing. Women!