anonymous asked:

Tell us about rosco the pretty douchebag.

Yeah okay actually I have a lot to say about that asshole right now.

Also get ready because I’m going on a McFreaking Rant™ cause of some stuff that happened recently, so it’s gonna be a lot of shit involving my cat.

So basically, when I was younger I used to live in a small old people town, and they all had shit tons of dogs and cats (I guess that stuck with my family because look at us now). And our next door neighbor, she had a cat named Rosco. Very pretty, very lean, very scary looking because he was a mean fighter who was the top cat of the neighborhood. Had the occasional scar, scab, or wound if you saw him enough.

And I have a cat named Kiwi. She was young at the time, probably only a few years old. She loved going outside, and I even remember her refusing to use the litter box because she’d rather go outside. My cat isn’t very pretty, she’s got mad coarse, on the count of some incidents that my brother is responsible for, but I won’t go into that. But she’s very sweet, very loving and super chill. Again, loved going outside.

So one day, we let her out, no big deal. Later on in the day, I hear some scuffling on the side of the house, like cat fight. Because Rosco is always getting into fights, I didn’t think much of it at first, but of course my paranoid ass always has to think of the absolute worst, like he just straight up murdered our cat or something. And I’m the only one in the house who cared for Kiwi oddly enough??? Nobody else really cared for her as much as I did.

So I went outside to go look, Rosco was there and I scared him off. He was hanging near this little vent-like thing on the side of our house. It was open, which was weird, cause it was usually protected by a screen mesh thing. It was knocked off.

I looked inside. Super dark, but I see my cat. She got beat up real bad by Rosco. In a state of shock, she manages to come to my voice when I call her (This, being the last time in her entire life that she’d listen to anybody while she’s outside.) She slinks back to the front door, I let her in, and she runs back to her usual room she likes to hang out in. She had a scar on her ear, her fur was all battered, she was closing one eye (it didn’t get severely hurt, thankfully), and she was doin that one thing that cats do where when you try and pet them, they feel spineless.

I also realised at this point that Kiwi had never gotten into a fight with another cat, and because it was the meanest and toughest cat on the block, she was pretty fucked up about it. She never wanted to step foot outside again. When I’d open up the door she’d either sit there or slink down, unlike how she’d usually bolt out. She was terrified of going outside.

This also caused a lot of complications, because my cat was so used to going wherever she liked, so she would pee on everything. It took years and years and years, but by the time she was about 13 (She’s 16 now) I managed to get her to stop. She was very persistent, but like a dog she knew when she did something wrong so she’d hide. Eventually she just started using the cat box full time. She also 100% hates every cat she ever sees now. 

She’s only had to interact with a handful of cats in her life. A neighborhood cat from where I live now, because we thought she was lost and tried to house her for a bit. We tried to introduce her and Kiwi, but Kiwi wasn’t having that shit. She wouldn’t fight, but she’d meow and hiss. So that was a no go. Later, a couple years back, we got a cat. Tried to introduce them. The other cat was chill, Kiwi was not. That cat unfortunately died. Then we got another cat earlier this year (He’s a real sweetie!!!). He’s terrified of Kiwi because of how angry she get when he’s around.

So basically Rosco fucked up a huge part of Kiwi’s early life.

Also, because she’s so terrified of the outdoors now, it was really difficult when we moved (We moved before, a lot, but this time we were taking her with us rather than leaving her with our grandpa, who had died a year prior to us moving again). Getting her into the car, already hard. Once she was sin the car, she was fine. I wasn’t in the car with her, but my mom told me she was clam but she clung for dear life to my mom because she had never been in a car before being taken home as a kitten. When my mom tried to bring her in, before I could open the door, Kiwi struggled free from my mom and bolted to the next door neighbors car, hiding underneath.

I was freaked out, because for the past 4 years, I had claimed her as my cat, rather than the family cat. So she mostly chilled out in my room, only responded to me, and we were super tight (We still are, don’t worry). So, of course, like the chill 13 year old that I was with my best friend Kiwi, I sat there for three hours crying trying to get her to come home, all the while my asshole mom telling me to leave her and try again tomorrow. 

Eventually neighbors across the street who I didn’t even know, came up and asked what was wrong. I was just sorta sobbing and talking about my cat. They left and came back with a kennel thing, and we all tried to coax her into it. She would swipe and hiss and growl, and refuse to be touched. She was too terrified so she lashed out. It’s understandable, it’s scary.

We eventually got her in, safe and sound. Those people who helped are really nice and I still think about it to this day. I borrowed the kennel for a few days, because Kiwi was scared of the new surroundings. After a few days of her only poking her head out to eat, drink, or use the bathroom, she eventually started walking around the same room that I’m sitting in right now, typing this shit out.

Since then (6 years ago) she’s been very calm, very happy, and very affectionate. She likes to stare out the window when I have the blinds open (And she’s the only reason I ever have my blinds open at all, really), and she’s very content with that. She’s not a very curious cat, so she doesn’t leave my room much. If my door is open, she’ll walk out into the hallway, look down the stairs, but won’t ever go much further. Probably because we have a million animals around the house, but she’s been long since used to them. She’s just a grumpy old cat who doesn’t want to deal with anything new.

So basically, everything is fine now!!! !! !! Except, the plot twist,,., of course.,

So a few days ago, like three at best, I was cleaning my room all day cause I was going away for a day and a half and I didn’t wanna get reamed by my family for having a messy room when they inevitably snooped around while I was gone. I didn’t end up going (I was supposed to go yesterday, but I had to reschedule). But after I was done cleaning my room, I noticed that I hadn’t seen Kiwi for at least six or seven hours. So I started looking around my room. She wasn’t there. I looked to see if I accidentally closed my door on her without noticing. Wasn’t in the hallway. I looked around the whole house. Wasn’t anywhere in the house.

Me, being an extremely paranoid person, thought I threw her away in a big garbage bag, or she walked into a bag and I suffocated her with all the garbage and threw her away. It was really dumb in retrospect, but. Yknow. So I went looking in the garbage bins outside, and stuff like that. My mom and my brother were helping me look for her. My mom kept insisting she was still in my room and I didn’t look hard enough, so I told her to go back to her room while my brother and I looked. She listened, which was a nice change.

After a little bit of searching, I said it it was 99.99999% impossible for Kiwi to be outside, in the front. Because how would she get out there? My window was open, but I have a screen. It’s not very in place, and can be pushed, but she’s never pushed it before. And even if she did, it should have fell off when she did. But as I was saying this to my brother, I opened the front door, and sure enough she was sitting in front of the house, off to the side.

I was relieved, but I was also frightened. She was sitting there in broad daylight (Actually it was almost dark but w/e). Very close to the corner of the house, where there’s a lot of trees and shrubbery shoved into a small area filled with spider webs and shit. When I make my way towards her, trying to call her to me, she backs away. She crouched into the bushes, but we still had an eye on her. She was also basically in the same spot as she was 14 years ago, when Rosco beat her up. Same side of the house. Only she wasn’t inside of a vent, and this wasn’t the same house. I still got really scared.

Because I was wearing nothing but Banana Boxers and a bra, I had my brother watch her as I got clothes on. I came back down, fully clothed, and stepped through the bushes and spiders and shit. Nobody, in the 6 years we’ve lived here, has ever gone over to that side of the house because it’s so ragged and filled with thorny vines and shit. But, like, yknow. Gotta rescue my bff4l. But just like 6 years ago, when we moved into this place, she wasn’t having it.

I couldn’t touch her without her getting ready to swipe at me, hiss at me, or anything. Not wanting to get scratched cause cat scratches are brutal, especially when she’s scared, I grabbed a stick nearby and tried to prod her forward. At this point, of course, my family brought down a small dog kennel (That she’d fit into, not very much movement space, but we were just trying to hustle her inside) and was pointing it towards her. We couldn’t get her to move forward, so my mom grabbed a towel and I just picked her up, wrapped her up in it so she couldn’t bolt or scratch me, and just like that she was inside. She instantly calmed down when she was inside. She’s literally just terrified of the outside.

So she’s back in my room, and eating a lot because I’m sure she had been out there all day. Then I started thinking about how I’m on the second floor. There’s a roof beneath me, sure, but jumping from the roof down with no extra support, even from the first story, is a big jump for a cat. So I started freaking out again. When she started walking around, she’d sit down and lay on one side. She’d be limping. She’d be slow. There was a tuft of fur sticking out from her hind leg, along with a lot of (caked and already a few hours old) blood. It was a big gash, and I think she sprained her back foot. She’s a lot better than she was a few days ago, but I feel so bad.

I know that 80% of this post isn’t what you asked, but I really wanted to talk about it because I still feel bad about it. but if u squint really hard, this all relates to Rosco the Asshole Douchbag Extraordinaire still, cause he’s the reason for my cat being so scared of the outside world. Thanks Rosco. you’re still a dick even in death.


40. VIDEO. We all know about “Transformers” - the cars and trucks that turn into super-robots. But what the movies and toy manufacturers have overlooked are all of the other less-celebrated, more mundane Transformers. For example, what about Burgertron? He transforms from a burger into a robot. Or Desktopatron? She is a desktop computer who transforms into a robot. Or Fiddletron? He’s a violin one minute, a robot the next. Show us a human in a Transformer costume that goes from household object to a bad-ass robot.