Do you remember when Letterman debuted the Velcro suit? When he ran (lumbered), hit a trampoline and project himself into a wall where he stuck like a bug to a windshield? I do. Maybe I’m that old, but even if you don’t remember the original you’ve seen a recreation.

Long story short: Monty may very well be the offspring of our gap toothed late night savior. He’s a velcro cat, as demonstrated most nights that The Mc and I actually have the opportunity to dine together. Instead of jumping into our laps, he’ll mount a leg and attempt to climb it. If standing at the sink, he’ll mount the back of your thigh. It’s not charming.

We never had issues with Grayson The Angel Child and we’ve been hoping that castration would rectify Monty’s robust spazzitude. Last week he finally went for the big visit. When I picked him up and was being given the three sentence instructions for aftercare, I was told he might be lethargic for the next few days if not a week due to the anesthesia. Yipee!

No such luck. He was plenty enthusiastic that night, which is really awesome when Grayson is running around acting like they’ve never met with hissing and swatting. Not. He was up at 3am fighting with his older brother and biting our toes. I barely remember but am certain I got up at least twice swearing and voicing concern that I would never sleep again.

By the time I got to my car from the condo the next morning my phone was already ringing: it was The Mc. I answered and he asked me to talk him off the ledge. Monty had just bum rushed him while he was sitting in bed drinking coffee and said cup of hot brown liquid had gone everyone, including the new beige-ish comforter. I did the best I could do. “Don’t worry about it, throw the sheets in the wash and I’ll deal with the comforter later.”

I wanted to cry. Again.

About an hour later, I get this email from my sweet potato pie:

Subj: Montez
Knocked your plant over in the bathroom, I did the best I could to clean it up. After coming out of the shower, I discovered his ass sticking out of the kitchen sink chowing down on the noodles you left in the sink. No idea how many he ate. So in addition to snipping him, they must have enabled his back legs because he can now jump on the counter with ease. I got the mail, left it in the bathroom so the demons can¹t destroy it, careful with it because there are bills mixed in with junk mail flyers.

My emotions we mixed, so I emailed my girlfriends for humor and sympathy, one of whom replied “He’s probably looking for his balls.”

I love my friends. I love my dysfunctional family. I also think we need to hire a nanny.