My ex-wife had a cat named Josie. Josie was a weird fucking cat. But that may be redundant.
You know those plastic plugs that you put in electrical outlets to “child proof” them?
Josie couldn’t stand those fucking things. She was POPI (Plastic-Outlet-Plug Intolerant). A rare, but tragically amusing, feline affliction. She would find one of those plugs within seconds and claw it out of the socket, leaving it lying on the floor like a freshly-fucked prison-bitch. Then proudly strut away in search of her next victim.
I suggested breaking her of that habit by inserting a some metal plugs and letting her take a few swipes at those. I was vetoed. Probably just as well. No doubt my inserting the metal plugs would have earned me a Darwin Award and some You Tube Immortality. “Here. Hold my beer and watch THIS! ZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTT”
But Josie’s real talent was even more entertaining.
She loved to eat those little “icicles” off the Christmas trees. Ya know, those little decorative, shiny strips?
Ummm, surprisingly enough, cats don’t really digest those very well.
Something about cat-stomach enzymes not being biologically evolved for breaking down seasonal, decorative, mylar dietary supplements.
She would occasionally manage to succesfully pass one. Made the kitty-litter box look very festive. It was like she was doing her part to decorate her little area of the house.
But more often than not, we would just find her walking through the house with a big string of tinsel dangling from her ass.
At first, we would try to hold her down and pull the tinsel out of her ass. Turns out, cats like that even less than they like being given a bath.
Trying to get her to submit to a tinselectomy was more trouble than it was worth.
We eventually discovered it was easier to just snag the ass-trailing piece of tinsel on her way by and give it a gentle tug. Josie would run away from the offending sensation leaving you holding a smelly, cat-shit-encrusted piece of Christmas cheer.