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I shall tell you about possibly the darkest day of my life. At least at the time it was the darkest day of my life. But now, I look back with fondness of a day of which a legendary story arose, which has spread like wildfire throughout the years and has delighted an untold number of people in the south Chicago area.

In bars, parties, family gatherings, et al., I can usually count on receiving the following request several times: "Tell me about the cat."

Well, here goes.

It's the summer of 1994. I have just graduated high school. Got a really hot girlfriend who loves sex. Have a totally pimped-out '79 Mustang with chrome wheels and a dash-mount CD player (Which was quite a big deal back in those days!). Got a job at an Elmhurst car wash getting paid 6.00 an hour plus all tips (More money than I know what to do with) ! Looking forward to college at EIU. Life is great.

Ok, back to the hot girlfriend who loves sex.

On a nightly basis, my girlfriend and I would confine ourselves to my bedroom and just bang like nobody's business. It was to the point every night on the way home from work I would need to stop at Walgreens to buy at minimum 3-pack of Trojans. Like I said, life was great.

The only problem I was having these days, was my bedroom's location in my parent's house-The living room the next room over on one side, and my mother's room the next room over on the other side. Throw in that I had a waterbed, and all of you know how loud the banging can get on a waterbed, we were reduced to being as discreet as possible. So, to reduce noise levels, on the floor we went.

Each time after capping off, I became fond of simply tying the Trojan in a knot and lobbing it over to the corner of the room closest to the door, next to the heat register. Come 1:00am, the girlfriend's curfew, I would gather the used comdoms up, put them in a bag, and throw them out in the alley on the way to dropping her off at home. I shake my head to this day at how much of my DNA was scattered behind Mr. Filipski's garage (He was an old jag-off anyway).

Enter Jake. My mom's 22 pound lovable, friendly, ball of fur. Beautiful orange Persian cat he was too. Lover of a variety of life's treat such as Friskies Meat and Turkey with Gravy (I know because I had to feed the fucker after school!), being petted on his belly, and sleeping in warm places-like next to heat registers.

Remember when I said I had a heat register in the corner of my room next to the door? Well some nights, Jake opted to invade my room and sleep in the corner. I didn't appreciate this for 2 reasons-1. I'm allergic to cats. 2. Where the fuck was I to lob the soiled Trojans when I was done banging the girlfriend? So naturally, I needed to shoo him out each night when my girlfriend and I retreated to my room.

So here we are. It's Saturday morning. I'm tired from the night before due to all the boning, lobbing used rubbers into the corner near the door, discarding them behind Mr. Filipski's garage, and taking my sweetheart home before curfew. I am awoken to the sound of my mom knocking on the bedroom door.

"Can you please give me a ride to the vet? I have to take Jake in for his shaving. Jimmy (my brother) borrowed my car."

Anyone who knows Persian cats knows that they are prone to developing huge clumps of hair that can be very painful to the cat, and need to be removed by a veterinarian. Jake was due for his routine shaving today. So as a loving son, of course I would give mom and Jake a ride to the animal doctor's!

I pulled in the parking lot, and mom and Jake went in to the vet. I decided to stay outside in the car, in order to recline the seat and try to make up for lost rest. Inevitably I dozed off.

Suddenly, I am awoken to the sound of loud knocking on the driver's side window. Startled, I oped my eyes to see mom with a look of disgust and disbelief on her face. I was at a loss for reason as to what happened to poor mom. I rolled down the window and she says, quite loudly to me:

"Chris, why was there a fucking used rubber stuck to the cat?"

Trying to stay sane at that moment, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Don't ask me! I have no idea! Ask Jimmy! He's always got Kathy (his fiancee) in his room!" And tried to act as disgusted as she was. After all, this was a pretty disgusting issue.

Apparently, the task of shaving Jake went in this manner: Mom would hold him down while the vet would use an electric razor. Picture the scene

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Razor quits suddenly.

The vet says "Oh! This one (hairball) might be a tough one!

He starts feeling around to diagnose what the problem is. He grabs hold of whatever it is, realizes it's loose. Begins to pull it slowly, until he has extracted the item from the cat's fur. He looks at it for a full second.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" says the vet, throwing the used condom to the floor.

He looked at poor mom, shook his head, and said "I'm not even going to ask because I don't want to know."

Oops! I guess I must have forgot to pick that one up off the floor!

-- Chris

(Special thanks go out to my brother Jimmy, who has been blamed repeatedly for being responsible for this mess happening. Oh, and thanks to mom for putting up with the huge level of embarassment.)

credit given to original author if known

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