In the battle for my girlfriend's affections, only one of us will be victorious--me, or her cat.
My first plan was simple. Like any proper jealous boyfriend type, I would warn the cat to stay away. I stopped the cat as we passed in a hallway and said, "Now look here, Gracie, you better stay away from my girlfriend. If you know what's good for you, you'll back off." I wasn't proud, threatening an emotional support cat, but I convinced myself it was the right thing to do when the cat ran away into her bathroom hiding space. But only an hour later it had returned to rub its furry face against my girlfriend's leg!
The problem was the cat had begun to feel comfortable in my girlfriend's apartment. I figured that, as it's an animal, the apartment smelled like a safe space. I tried to replace its smell with my own through chemical warfare, leaving my underwear, socks, and deodorant around the apartment. This backfired when my girlfriend yelled at me for all the underwear, socks, and deodorant left in her apartment. I tried to cut out the middleman and rub my armpits on the walls, but the walls appeared to be in cahoots with the cat, and I ended up with splinters.
It was time to reevaluate. Clearly my strategies thus far hadn't worked--really, how could I have expected them to? My plans were so crude. It was time to stop the silliness and get serious.
I needed to think like a cat. I practiced rolling onto my back, belly high in the air and paws up. I sent my voice as high as a voice could go in my own mews and meows. I studied the cat knocking ping-pong balls around the apartment: genius. Adjusting for proportions, I replicated this activity with kick-balls. (an initial attempt with bowling balls is not worth mentioning in detail). All attempts failed. My kick-balls were rounded up and summarily deflated. Meowing for attention got me nothing but a sore throat and an hour long session of watching cat videos on YouTube. And my attempts for a cute belly rub resulted in a deep sense of shame for everyone in the room. At least this included the cat, so I inflicted some collateral damage.
It's at this point I realized I was nothing but an 80s movie. I threatened the protagonist, I bullied it, and I even failed against it in a climactic competition. I tried to remember if the villains made any last efforts in these movies, but the only one I could remember was The Karate Kid, and that ended with the villain crane-kicked in the face. I knew I should accept defeat with dignity. I went ahead and tried to beg. I pleaded with it for a full minute, begged the fuzzball to take its incredible abilities of adorableness elsewhere. It said nothing (can you believe it?) and stared at me blankly. I slunk to the floor and, with no scrap of self-respect left, began to pet my better. I have to admit, I felt better. It's just so fluffy and soft and it purrs and---
I've learned an important lesson. In this dog eat dog world, you can't outfox a cat.
