I hate to start this thing out with "where do I begin" ...but holy fuck! Where do I begin?

Let's go back a year or two, to my mom's childhood stories of how they lived on a farm, walked up a 6 mile hill to and from school 5 days a week in the blistering tundra, and how she despised barn cats, house cats, or any other cat. Yeah, let's go there and listen to her talk about high school, stealing tractors, lighting hay bales afire, and running in track with a 40 oz. in her left hand, cigarette in her right.

Okay, so maybe we don't have to go that far back, but did you notice that one very important little phrase... "she despised cats." My mom hated visiting her brother because his wife owned cats. Hated it. Hated it like I hate watching the Lifetime movie network. My mom would tell us some very graphic tales about vicious high school guys and their reign of terror on the furry four legged creatures and how it was socially unacceptable to own a house cat. "You can't be voted prom queen if you keep a cat in your house!" -GASP- The horror.

The year I turned 12 I witnessed the biggest brawl between my parents since they had divorced. If my mom hadn't broken her thumb she could have easily been gift wrapping Dad's testicles the day he brought me a kitten, but She couldn't win. Her only child already had the little fuzzball in hand with a bright, smiling face. No heart breaking today. Nope. Just bitching, and cursing, and throw in a little more bitching for good measure.

Shortly there after I lost my cat. Not to a curbside smearing or any catastrophic thing like that, but I lost him to my mother. He was her cat. He sat on her shoulders while she drank coffee. He sat in the bathroom watching her take baths. He slept on her pillow at night. Her cat.

Far enough with memory lane, because now I've reached a crossroads in my life where stories about the "crazy cat lady" are no longer funny, they're insulting. My mom has become the crazy fucking cat lady.

I noticed the onset of the "illness" a few years back when she had collected 3 cats. Even more so a year ago when she spent thousands of dollars just to keep one alive. And now that she's got 5 of them I'm afraid it's too late. It won't be too long now before this wretched disease takes over her completely.

This last weekend I visited my mom. I was there for a total of 74 minutes before the first wave hit me. Just this sweet tide of emotions driving me to ram my skull into the toaster. Maybe if I mutilate myself she'll talk about something other than the cats?

I couldn't walk 3 feet without kicking up a cloud of cat dander. I couldn't drag my feet without my toes getting shredded by evil kitty. I couldn't. I couldn't. I can't.

Dude, I just can't do it anymore.

When I visit my mom's house I've got allergies. I wear fur coats, and not by choice mind you. I get to hear about what she's been feeding them, and how much they're personalities are like "so and so". And this one is... blah blah blah.
Holy fuck! Where do I end!?!?!?!