Ever since Siobhan dived into Perth’s dating-pool she has dreamed of being liberated from the drowning boredom of existence like the beautiful lady-bug she is. Instead, she dodges the creepy crawlies that always seem to follow her around.
So, she did what any early 30s chick would do under the circumstances and purchased 2 cats to keep her company. It was at this point she felt a change coming on.
Her rapid decline into cat freakery was startling. Her social media were flooded with pictures of her “fur babies”, Squeakles and Mr Tummy Wummy. At first, they were just taken with her iPhone but eventually, she had some professional photos done up. Peak saddo.
Watching her baby-voiced Snapchats were horrible, they were like watching the Chipmunks perform at a helium factory. They pierced your ears and your will to live.
She was walking the thin feline of sanity until she decided to drag the rotting bird of cringe-worthiness across it and drop it at your doorstep: she is throwing her cats a birthday party.
After 4 hours of her friends awkwardly watching Siobhan stick party hats on her cats heads and put a candle into a tin of Fancy Feast the soiree is concluded.
She snaps a pre-smash selfie with her little fur babies in the back. She uploads a cringe-bomb to Insta, “My little family xoxox” – no, that’s not a family, it’s some guy you used to know and two animals that you own.
He won’t lie, he is terrified, but his balls are bluer than Papa Smurf o.d’ing on smack. She leads him into a room filled with even more professionally taken photos of her cats. This brand of crazy makes One Hour Photo look like the Babysitter’s Club.
He thinks he can handle it until she starts gently purring and swipes his hand away when he tries to put on a franger, “no, I want you to put a kitten in me”.