Cat-Hide Potholders Anyone?

I have cats. Three cats.

The trouble is, more and more lately I have been wishing that I had zero cats. This poses some difficult issues, first and foremost being how precisely to get rid of said cats. Of course there are several solutions that have not failed to escape me. One could simply take them down to a shelter. Perhaps on a lovely family car ride they could be hurled out the window. Yesterday, briefly, I considered an even more practical solution. Potholders. Think about it. They were perfectly designed for it really. Before you judge me too harshly, you need to hear the events that proceeded this thought.

I came home from work to the usual sight of Stewie, the youngest of the three cats, lounging regally on the counter he knows full well he is not supposed to sit on. "Stewie, down!" I bark in my usual fashion. He blinks at me innocently. "Down!" I say much more forcefully this time. He finally squeaks and jumps down, knocking several glasses into the sink as a bonus.

Counter cleared, I drag out the ham to warm up for tonight's dinner. By this time, I can see Gilbert, my obese middle child/cat, circling the litter box. Gilbert has a little trouble squeezing his plentiful hide into the box every now and again and occasionally elects to conduct his business on the floor near the litter box, so understandably I was watching him with interest. As soon as he had cleared the doorway and was in the box I turned back to my meal preparations just in time to swat Stewie off the counter, again.

No sooner had I done this then Mischa, my cranky, slightly psychotic oldest cat wanders out from the back bedroom where she spends her time. She promptly began to drag her hind quarters on the floor to alleviate what I can only assume is an itchy butt caused by her overly fluffy fur. "Mischa! No!" I shout, startling her. She hisses and runs away to hide in her cave once more. No sooner is this accomplished than I can hear Stewie in the front room clawing the couch. "Stewie! No!" He goes on merrily. "Stewie! Knock it off!" He continues, unfazed. "Stewie!" Finally I march across the living room and scoop him away from the couch with my foot. He promptly jumps back on the counter. I sweep him off with my arm and continue with dinner.

Seconds later, I hear the sound of papers shuffling. Unfortunately I know all too well what that sound means. Gilbert has crapped on the floor and is pawing whatever he can find nearby to try to cover it up. "Gilbert! NO!" I scream. At this point I lose it. Feeling like I know Rambo must when he unloads a full clip into various infidels hidden in some tiny obscure training camp in a jungle, I grab the water bottle and begin squirting Gilbert as he flees from my wrath.

"Bad kitty! BAD!" I shout as I begin the pleasant task of scooping his fresh deposit into a freezer bag. Whilst engaged in this activity, the brilliant potholder idea occurs to me. Naturally, potholders gets me thinking of the stove. I glance back into the kitchen observe Stewie, who is again on the counter, and has taken the opportunity to score some ham while I am cleaning up his brother's fresh pile. "STEWIE! GET DOWN!" I yell as I grab the squirt bottle and give him the Rambo treatment. This time, I don't stop until I chase him down the hall and into the bedroom.

I finally managed to get dinner made, but not before thinking about how lovely genuine cat hide pot holders might look hanging from a decorative rack in the kitchen.

In you know anyone who needs a cat, or some potholders for that matter, let me know.