Cat Looks Like Lion, Dog Flies, is Autistic

I'm going back to New York tomorrow, but before I go, a word on my pets. I know there's nothing more annoying than some chick going on about how cuuute Paisley is when she does that thing with her paw, but humor me. My brother just died.

Alright, first The Cat. The Cat doesn't have a name, we just call him The Cat. It's kind of sad. We've had so many pets over the years and doggedly came up with names for all of them, but The Cat was the last in a long line. By the time we got to him, Kyle and I were teenagers, my single mother had laundry to do, and honestly, no one cared.

When I came home last month for the funeral, The Cat was completely matted. Everywhere. It was like petting a braided rug. He used to have this long, beautiful coat, but now he just looked miserable, he probably felt miserable, and touching him was miserable. I felt bad for The Cat, but Kyle had just died, and honestly, no one cared.

I came home this time and the cat was shaved. Have you ever seen a cat shaved? It's really ugly. And they left his paws and lion's mane and a puff on his tail. Like a cat poodle. He looks ridiculous.

The crazy thing is? Everyone likes The Cat better. Like, a lot better. The Cat lives with my mother and aunt, and they've never really liked him. They found him "weird," "needy," and "I dunno, just sort of...lacking." And then they shaved him, he got uglier, and now they love him.

Look how big his head looks:


And then there's Toby. Poor Toby. The best we can figure, he's autistic. Well, maybe Asperger's. He's scared of every single moving object he's ever encountered outside of the home. And of some unmoving objects, particularly garbage cans, parked cars, and real estate signs. He's morose, very reminiscent of Eeyore, and never makes eye contact. At his absolute happiest, he may walk slowly towards you, head low, tail wagging sadly.

Here's how Toby looks 99% of the time:

The 1% of the time he doesn't look like this, he's a fucking maniac. At the top of his list of fears are fireworks, and my mother lives by the marina, where all these rich white people shoot off fireworks from their yachts all goddamn summer in celebration of their ridiculous wealth. Twice this year, fireworks went off while Toby was home alone, he flipped his shit, and jumped out the window.

Yes. Jumped out the window.

And the reason that's completely insane is my mother lives in a condo on the second floor. Jumping out the window involves falling two stories into a thin clump of bushes. My dog is so fucked up that fireworks cause him to fling himself against the screen until it pops loose and then he throws his body out the window.

And here, the scene of the crime:


Amazingly, Toby has never been hurt in the fall. The only possible explanation? My dog can fly.