kpduty

So Sunday, The Husband and I go over to The Husband's Boyfriend's house for a little cooking out action. After everyone was done eating, we popped in a movie: HOSTEL, which The Husband has wanted to see for a while. I have to admit, after all the gore I've seen in films in the last few years, I still didn't want to watch it because I thought it'd be way over the top. Like pins in eyes for 90 minutes. It actually wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting. It was far more vile with its constant parade of boobies.

Anyway, HOSTEL was pretty good. So we go home, and we're downstairs in the home office fucking around (I'm on Fark.com and The Husband's trying to put the new hard drive in my computer). After about a half hour, a stench worse than the breath of Satan wafting from the depths of Hell permeates the air. My eyes begin to water.

"Holy fuck," I say, "Did Tess just shit?" referring to our eldest cat--she who is prone to nasty bouts of smelly diahrrea.

The Husband stalks to the area of the basement where the litter boxes are housed. "Nope," he replies, "It's Buster." Our newest addition, he is also prone to nasty bouts of diahrrea, but he at least tries to mitigate the damage by dragging random plastic bags and pieces of paper from around the basement to cover his poop. He's a trooper, he is.

The quiet sifting of litter comes from behind me. Then, a scream.

"AAAAAHHHHH!," The Husband cries. I jump from the chair (about as well as you can "jump" when you're a big ol' fattie) and poke my head around the door frame.

"Buster's got worms!" he cries, shoving a litter scoop at me, sawdust covered piece of poop right in the center.

And sticking up from the center of that sawdust covered piece of poop is about an eighth of an inch segment of glistening white worm, twirling its head in circles, looking for another ass to crawl into.

Heroically swallowing my bile, I get a baggie in which to put the poop for the inevitable next day trip to the vet. Then Buster went into the back bedroom to be quarantined. Then showers were had, the bed was stripped and redressed, and the other two cats were banished to any area of the house which was as far away from me as possible.

The vet said Buster had a tapeworm.

I swear to you, I do too. I imagine it is like Cthulhu, waiting to spawn from my ass and take over the world. I have been methodically checking my own poop.

The tapeworms, they are everywhere.

The vet swore people cannot get tapeworms from their pets: it is a six-month long process involving ingestion of infected fleas.

It matters not. I saw the horrid creature, reaching up for daylight from a steaming pile of feces.

Holy fuck, that's nasty.

Cats suck. Don't ever get a cat, unless it's one that doesn't have an ass for a tapeworm to come out of.