(this is ancient, from 2001 or something... but I really want to do something with it, someday)

"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!