Gay Cats. No, I Mean It.

Dear Readers,

Recently, I discovered that Robbo’s cat is gay. This post will have no real social or personal implications; I just wanted you all to know that Marley likes the peen. And the pooper.

This, my friends, is Marley. He came with Robbo…sort of a package deal:


I know. He is enormous. He has been described as “a meatloaf.” When the Comcast guy came to hook up our cable, he laughed (somewhat cruelly) in Marley’s face and said, “Ain’t that cat a little fat?” Yes. Yes, he is. You can view his own personal MySpace page here. Yes, he has his own MySpace. Yes, his username is “fatmarley.” And yes, my boyfriend is kind of a weirdo.

This is Mr. Poopies, who came with me.


I know. He is adorable, right? Look at that fur. Look at that bone structure. Poopies is the ultimate male, and Marley is the ultimate meatball. (Quick: name that reference! The first person to correctly identify who said it, what film it appeared in, and who played that character in the comments section gets a prize of my choosing. Seriously.)
Apparently, Poopies also looks like a sweet piece of ass. This weekend, Robbo and I were sitting at the bar between our kitchen and living room while Poopies slept peacefully on the couch. Suddenly, Marley jumps up next to him and, hovering over him, begins making undulating hip gyrations and weird mewing sounds while kneading his front paws on either side of Poopies. Really weird stuff. Totally trying to put his peen inside my cat. Not cool, Marley. Not cool at all. This went on for about 10 solid minutes (Marley’s got mojo, apparently) while Poopies just looked on, somewhat nonplussed.

Robbo got very upset, until I accused him of being homophobic. He calmed down, and then I called his cat a f*g, just to get him all upset again. Like I’ve said before, he’s really lucky to have a girlfriend as funny as I am.

And then—then, my friends, the truth came out. Marley had been given up for adoption by Robbo’s father because he had, in fact, held down another male cat in their home and tried to stick his weiner into said cat’s nether regions. And somehow, someone (cough, Robbo, cough) forgot to mention this to me.

The point to this whole story? Some people in my life think that I decided too hastily to move in with Robbo (we’d been dating only three months—in fact, my friend Conor actually said, “This is brilliant idea. It’ll be awesome when you two realize you can’t stand each other when you start to exhibit all the flaws that a 3-month relationship has failed to bring out!” To which I replied, “I know, right?!”) but it has been working out amazingly. My advice to anyone who is considering moving in with their significant other: don’t worry about them. They’ll be fine.
What you really need to do is run a background check on their pet. Otherwise, you are sacrificing the sanctity of your own pet’s butthole. And your pet wouldn’t do that to you. So don’t do it to them.