The One With The Fur Babies

I woke up one morning in the ultimate stare down. Behind two beady eyes was a ball of fur covering a body roughly the size of a sewer rat. A low growling sound emitted from the furry rat as he stood perched on my knee. Another tangle of fur snuggled its rat body next to mine and rested its head on my arm. On the far, far side of the queen bed, laid the owner of the furry rat dogs, his back facing me and causing a chasm about a mile wide.

Now, I’m new to this dating game, but when I get a text at 1 am from a man asking me to come over and hang out, I assume that it’s a booty call. Since I’d never had a booty call, I figured it was time to check that off the bucket list.

I arrive at Mr. Fur Babies, and he isn’t even there. So I sit in my car and wonder why I am really doing this. After the self-evaluation and reassurance that I made the right choice in my new adventurous life, I get a text saying that he’ll “be right there.” A few minutes later, headlights pull up behind me, spotlighting the pretentious car pulling into the driveway. I get out of my car, and immediately I get handed a beer. Random, but ok, I’ll go with it.

Going through the garage door, Mr. Fur Babies starts cooing. Yes, people, COOING. A forty-plus-year-old man, cooing to what I would have to assume are NOT German Shepherds or a Pit Bull or any sort of a real man dog. And yes, I assume correctly as a butterball of fur comes flying at my leg, with annoying high pitched sounds of yapping assaulting my ears. Mr. Fur Babies continues to coo and plops himself on the couch. This is already a bad sign. He motions for me to join him as he scrolls through his recorded TV shows. After settling on a random reality show, he resumes cooing to the balls of fur-covered rats and makes random conversation about his job and all the important stuff he is doing. Thanks for asking about me. Let’s talk more about you…

An hour later, he scrolls through his recorded programs again and not so casually, drops the fact that he was on an episode of a reality TV show and would I like to watch it?  Of course not, but seeing no polite way out, I nod enthusiastically. Another hour later, I’m yawning. Are we gonna get to this booty call already or what? Mr. Fur Babies turns on MTV. WTF? Apparently, I’ve been teleported back to the teenage years and have to fake that I’m entertained by watching a show where people pull stupid pranks on each other. I sit and watch a guy put Saran Wrap on a toilet seat. Brought back good memories of when I was in the 10th grade at camp…yes, I’m being sarcastic.

At about 4:30 am, I’ve lost all of my acting ability and have resorted to monosyllabic answers and feigning sleep. This is the most boring booty call ever. The furry rats have gotten more attention than I have. Mr. Fur Babies has been kissing them all night. At least, someone was seeing some action. He jumps up suddenly and says, “Let’s go to bed.” Well, damn, at least, we might be getting somewhere now. Not sure if I even want to go there with a man that obsessed with himself and his two furry rats.

In the bedroom, I climb in and suddenly feel a bit shy until Mr. Fur Babies climbs in and unceremoniously plops two furry rat dogs in between us and turns his back toward me and promptly starts snoring. No way to politely extricate myself now. So, I pat the flat pillow, try my best to get some sleep and figure out a way to escape in the morning.

The next morning, Mr. Fur Babies invites me to come back soon. Um, yeah, sure.

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