I come home from classes on Friday afternoon, looking forward to a weekend of pizza and my Playstation 4. I grab the mail and I see it . . . something that should not be in my mail. I unlock my front door, walk inside, and close the door.
Shadow is sitting on the couch, watching something on Netflix. From what is happening on the screen, I deduce that Shadow is not watching something from her “Kids” profile.
“Shadow, what are you watching?”
“I Spit On Your Grave. It’s hi-larious.”
“It is not hilarious. I actually feel kind of sick looking at it.”
“Is so. Besides, she deserves it. Stupid, educated libtard.”
I decide not to tell the cat what happens at the end of the movie. If she keeps watching, at least I’ll be rewarded with profound schadenfreude.
“Shadow, can you tell me what this is?” I ask, holding up the newsletter from the mail.
“That’s Stormfront. It’s free so I signed up for it online.”
“You’re welcome,” Shadow adds.
“I’m helping make America great again.”
“By subscribing to a racist newsletter?”
“Get over it; she lost.”
I am suddenly glad that I had Shadow spayed.
“Anyhow, Trump is gonna get rid of all of the Chihuahuas next.”
“What? Oh – because they’re ‘from Mexico’?”
“Shadow, you do know that you’re a Bombay, right? Your breed is from Thailand.”
The cat looks irate. I move in for the kill.
“Also, what are you going to do when Stormfront realizes that you are a black cat? Or are those just ‘alternative facts’?”
“I don’t see color,” she says stiffly, and she stalks off to shit on my pillow.
Shadow is an asshole because she’s a cat. What’s your excuse?