Monday, November 19, 2012

RIP Charles DeHitler Cat... or run for your life, whichever.

The lawyer called today. My folks go in for another hearing on both the house and their divorce next week. The call could not have come at a better time, in fact I'm thinking of sending the whole office a lovely holiday card this year. That's how happy I was to hear the phrase "to talk about the divorce".

Mama is happy. She is 99.99% divorced and is re-reading The Secret.

My dad is... well I can guess he's happy. He seems to be laughing. A whole lot. About his girlfriend, Maryse.

Oh wait... maybe that's not a good thing? Ho boy.

"Maryse" as you may recall, is a 39 year old ex-children's-French teacher who "totally talks leik this and stuff, like OMG a wing bar waitress and junk" she's a Twilight fan and she is bat-shit crazy. The last time I talked about her she was trying to put a hex and a curse on my father, because he has gout. She thought she was a witch. 

Now, when I say witch, I don't mean "respectable follower of Wicca" oh no. I mean the stereotypical "And yer little dog TOO" type.

Keep in mind, she has already bred. She has a teenage son and a granddaughter.

Well since my last blog, Chicago Public Schools have re-hired her. Now "she leik totally OMG" tries to teach French and "proper thinking" to children 10 and under. Proper thinking you ask? Why yes. This loon actually believes that the book "Freakonomics" is a curriculum. I am not kidding. She even made my dad watch the movie version on repeat ~ for 10 hours straight ~ while he was hyped up on medication and wine. She said that wine would be a good mix for his medication. I'm thinking she is trying to kill him.

I actually bumped into her while shopping a month after the last blog was posted. Since she doesn't know I have a blog, I didn't see the need to tell her about it. I don't even use her real name, after all. I shook her cold, zombie hand and wished her the best with my dad.

Well in her book, saying "It's great to see you, I hope you and Dad are doing well" is (her words) German for "I hope you fall into a well and drown in rust water". Yeah, she thought it was German code.

She also claims that every friend I have ever had is a lie, my relatives are figments of my imagination, my blogs and websites don't exist and I'm somehow trying to mooch in on my father's "wealth". 

For the record, my father is uninsured and unemployed. He blew through the $10 an hour job money he had left quite a while ago, and now is a freelancer making less than minimum wage. He has all the pension of a ham sandwich. Exactly WHAT the hell fortune do you think he has, crazy lady??

She also claims that being a witch is boring her, so now she wants to be a Buddhist. Unfortunately, this psycho believes that reading books about Lao-tzu is the path to enlightenment, so I don't think she understands what being a Buddhist means. 

But recently, my house got a 2 a.m. phone-call. My father was relaying some very troubling news.

For several weeks in a row, Maryse was threatening to kill herself, and then come back as a poltergeist and kill him too. Then she decided not to kill herself, but instead threatened to will him into being deathly sick, cure him, make him sick again, and then magically have his gout kill him, so he can be reborn as a Black man, as punishment for having gout. 

If you read my last blog, you already know this is NOT the first time the racist psycho has done this.

So rather than just say "BYE BITCH" and hang up the phone, my idiot father actually went over to her house. Why that sounds so safe, doesn't it? Walking alone in the dark in the middle of the night, to the house of a crazy person threatening to kill you via mind-rays (again, her words not mine) and make you come back as a racial minority she hates. Sure, fine, go ahead. Totally alright.

So upon entry, he sees her caressing a broken pitcher.

Let me stop here and explain the pitcher. If you read my last blog about Maryse, then you know she takes my dad to garage sales all over the place. Well after I wrote that blog, he bought her a 1950's, mass manufactured pitcher for $1. This is the type of pitcher you find at the Goodwill, all over the store. There are literally millions of these things, and odds are good that if it's being sold at $1, it ain't that precious.

Well the pitcher is made of old glass. She put piping hot tea into the old, frail glass.

The old, frail, glass pitcher broke.

She thinks it's my dad fault for liking tea so much. If he didn't like tea, she wouldn't have had to make the tea and put it into the most frail, piece of glass possible. Never mind that he wasn't even in her house and never asked her for tea, oh no. By liking it, she must make it, and so it is his fault.

So there she is, caressing the shards of glass and weeping. He asks her what the problem is.

It's Charles.

I last blogged about Charles last year. For those who don't know, Charles is a stray cat that Maryse adopted... from Japan. She legit paid $500 to have the alley stray shipped from Japan to America. Only, she didn't adopt Charles legally. She just found him haphazardly in an alley, goosestepping between two boxes. She didn't bother to check if he had an owner. That's not even half of the problem. This is Charles:
A one-eyed Hitler cat. 

Charles has a bad cough. When he has a hairball, he goes "HEIL HEIL HEIL REEEEEICH" until it comes out. I can't make this up. I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to film this, but I'm highly allergic to cats.

Well recently, Charles was very sick. He also wouldn't go near her, even if the world stopped spinning. He wouldn't eat from her hand, wouldn't cuddle, he'd just wearily try to escape.

Charles started going out at night, and not coming back for days. Each time he came back, he'd be even more sick. The vet didn't want anything to do with him, since the cat tried to chew off his name tag.
(Please don't ask me to post the name. You get where this is going.)

So Maryse asked my dad to go looking for Charles. And like a complacent boyfriend, he did just that. Looking under bushes, in the alley, Charles is nowhere to be found.

Now on the day this blog takes place, she had phoned, screaming that Charles was dead, but when my dad got there, she retracted the story, saying only that she hasn't found Charles and thinks he "might" be dead. 

For the record, Charles has died about 6 times in the last two weeks, the second to last time, I was on the phone with a friend when Charles allegedly fell to his doom from her bedroom window, after she accidentally pushed him, then he rolled in the dirt and caught kitty-cancer. Then he rose up, coughed out the cancer but contracted another mysterious illness while crawling back tot he house. Now if he could survive that, I'm not opposed to the idea he may have survived a really long day's journey into the alley down the road from her.

Maryse is sad. Not because Charles has run away and might be dead though. Oh no, perish the thought. That would make far too much good sense.

She is sad, because she wants Charles to hurry back to her, and die peacefully at home, in her bed.

Then, (once more, her words not mine) once his soul has been released, she wants to turn him into a stole. So she can always have him near her, wherever she goes. 

I'm not joking around, her taxidermist is on speed dial. I didn't even know we had one in the area!

She says she wants to rub the fur of it with oils, and keep it's soul as her guardian, to watch over her when she tried to have my dad strangled in agony with gout.

But alas, Charles has disobeyed her, how dare he die on his own somewhere. She believes Charles has chosen to die elsewhere, just to spite her.

Now how does my dad handle this news?

He went straight home, and began mailing her postcards, forging Charles's signature. Yes, you read that right. She was in the process of teaching Charles to write, so he could show his appreciation for her. I seriously can't make this up.

So far, she truly believes the cards are from Charles, and hasn't yet pieced together that cats don't mail postcards. Especially not after they are dead.

.... And she's a Chicago Public School Teacher....

1 comment:

  1. Where do I begin with this one...

    That your father thinks that being reincarnated as a black man constitutes punishment?

    That Maryse has the same warped logic that that weirdo Lisa does?

    That she can't tell German from English, despite speaking English?

    That unless Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King's various resurrection stories have somehow become a reality, cats can't come back to life?

    That gout has suddenly become a lethal disease?

    That your father hasn't the common sense to dump this bitch, despite her threats of hocus pocus?

    That he has yet to catch on that her powers are about as real as the weapons of mass destruction Saddam was stockpiling 10 years ago?

    That no one thought Adolf the Furball would have been a better name than plain old Charles?

    I swear, if I had written something like this for a movie or story, It'd be rejected as somehow implausible.

    Funny how real life can seem that way in fiction.