Not Everyone Can Be A Grumpy Cat (But We Can All Die Trying)


Tardar Sauce Bundesen – Grumpy Cat’s full name –
is having a better day than me.
Tardar Sauce is probably having
a better day than you.

Grumpy Cat does not have much to be grumpy about.

Grumpy Cat did not
have to go to work today,
make herself breakfast,
or go the gym.

Grumpy Cat has
seven million fans,
a Friskies sponsorship,
was interviewed by Forbes,
and even featured on Good Morning America.

Her talent is all
genetic oopsy daisy –
God needed a good laugh that day.
“Dwarfism, bubble eyes, and an underbite.
That’ll do.”

So when my ex was wearing a grumpy cat t-shirt
on the same day he dumped me, I had to start
wondering if grumpy cat is definitely a lot fucking
happier than I was.

Thinking of Tardar Sauce the internet sensation
with her Instagram followers,
the depression started looking like lying
to people who knew it by my face. They did not need
to count teeth. They all noticed the matted hair.

While Tardar Sauce gets groomed professionally,
all tongue and petting, I had a three day bender of
how long could I go without caring for myself.
I ate an entire bag of bugles one night, to let the grime
stink into my skin for days.

The outsides match the inside. That’s what we call
a book cover, an appearance, an act, a newsfeed.

If Tardar Sauce the grumpy cat wakes up
content tomorrow, I found myself
wondering: if I would wake up and
someone would see past the bullshit.

I went to sleep laughing at photos
of the squashed face cat.

Then I bought myself a fucking grumpy cat tee-shirt
and accepted that nobody cares if I don’t
show up to their party. I can cancel
any and all plans. IT IS AN AMAZING and
deeply terrible feeling, to prefer
your dog and a season of bad television,
to spending time drinking lemon drops
and rehashing just WHY oh WHY he can’t
love me back.

This tastes like pillow sweat – it had been
three weeks since I last washed my sheets,
and yes, today this disease still looks
like 14 hours of sleep.

Tardar Sauce gets this. Cats, get this.
They spend their days sleeping.
Sleep always seems easier.

I fall asleep with the candle burning, because
I vaguely want it all to burn down at hour 13,
but I wake up. The candle has blown
out, the lamp is on, and Netflix is the one that asks,
“You’re still there?”

I’m still here.

If Tardar Sauce can make it through this shit life
without smiling, than what harm is there
in me doing the exact same thing.