Y-O-D-H

It was never about the cat. That's the first thing. It was about respect. I like cats. In fact, if someone had bothered to ask, I would have said getting one was a great idea. But no. Someone just brought it home. Into my home, where it promptly got hair all over my clothes and took a nap on my pillow in my favorite chair. I sat on the couch, my least favorite spot in the living room, and stared at the murderfloof. Maddeningly, it just laid there. Eyes closed, snoring. Its fluffy, marmalade fur stuck out at funny angles and its ears twitched every time I moved. "So, are you and Herbie getting along?" Her voice, from the doorway. My girlfriend of two years. I didn't look at her. I didn't want her to see how angry I was. I don't like confrontation. "That's a stupid name," I said after I realized she was just standing there, waiting on a response. She came in and stood between me and the cat. "I think it's cute! What would you call him, then?" Her voice was too high-pitched and