Dear Abby: I think my cat’s into kink
Steve didn’t show up for breakfast on Saturday morning. Which worried the crap out of me because the last time Steve didn’t show up for food, he almost died and we spent $1400 at the vet. My heart sank. I was going to find him dead. I was going to go down into the basement and find my cat dead from a recurrent bladder infection. Stupid cat. My shoulders slumped. I took a deep breath and made my way downstairs.
“Steve? Steve honey? You okay bud?”
I peeked around the corner into our rec room. My eyes widened. Steve was lying by David’s drum kit… with a clear plastic bag on his head. I thought he was dead until he let out a single pitiful meow.
“WHAT THE… STEVE! STEVE!!!”
I rushed over and took the bag off his head, he didn’t fight me, didn’t look freaked out – kind of looked stoned. I don’t know exactly how long his head had been in the bag, but the bag… it had water in the bottom of it from where, I’m just postulating here, Steve drooled into it. I didn’t technically find the cat with his pants down, ’cause cats don’t wear pants, but I think we can safely say that this is what it looked like: Feline Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation. I know, I know… what grown cats do in their private time should stay private, but Steve’s kink almost got him killed. 9 lives. 8 lives. We’re on life #7 folks, and if these things come in threes, I shudder at what I’ll find him doing next.
