Demon, Be Gone!

I'm praying for an exorcism. I thought the cat rescue place was going to take little Jerry back to "socialize" him so that he could be around humans without attacking them with the little sabres in his head called teeth. I thought they were going to take him back so that he could get some of his aggressive kittiness out of his system by being around and playing with other kitties. They thought this would tame him somewhat and help him learn that people are not toys.

And then things changed. The cat rescue place then thought it would be better if I took in another cat for little Jerry to have HERE rather than take him THERE. They thought that would be easier on HIM.

What cat did they want me to take, you ask? A mean, unadoptable little bastard named Genghis Khan. Why is he named Genghis Khan, you ask? Because apparently he's just as ADHD as little Jerry is and they think he'd keep Jerry occupied. Sounds like fun, huh? And they want this little 2 cat soiree to occur in MY house. With MY carpet. And MY furniture. I don't think so.

With my own tail between my legs and with resignation and defeat, I called the cat rescue place a couple of weeks ago and told them that no only would I NOT take Genghis Khan but that I also wanted to surrender Jerry back to them. I can't try to make this work with this cat anymore. I've tried everything I've been told, taught and ever learned about cats to try to make this a loving owner/kitty relationship. It's not working. I'm tired of being stalked, attacked, bitten and woken up in the middle of the night. I'm tired of digging toys out from under the refrigerator and from under furniture. I'm tired of shutting my bedroom door at night to keep Jerry out because he jumps on my head and bites me while I'm sleeping. I'm tired of trying to keep him off the kitchen table, counters and entertainment center and I'm tired of trying to re-arrange everything on the shelves that he knocked over when he jumped up to investigate the area for the kajillionth time. I'm really tired of my arms and hands being all scabbed up like I'm a cutter, when it's actually bites. And I'm still searching for the dried orange that used to be in my potpourri dish.

Mostly, I just want to beat the little fucker and I know that's just not right.

The cat rescue place told me that the state regulates the number of cats they can have at one time and that they'd have to wait for an opening before they could take the Spawn of Satan back. I've been waiting patiently for weeks for a spot to come open, it seems. Two days ago, the cat rescue place called me and told me that they could take Satan, Jr. anytime. So I've called and left messages in hopes that I can pack his happy kitty ass up and dump him of STAT.

What is taking them so long to call me back? UGH!!!!!!