It’s not always the Kitten’s Fault


It’s not always the Kitten’s fault. I can tell you this because I was once a Kitten. Kittens are how some people refer to young, nubile women, still deep into their singledom, laughing, living and loving. A Kitten’s biggest worries are paying the rent, finishing college and where the party is on a Saturday night. The last thing a Kitten wants is an old married man hitting on her, but they do it all the time.

You see, most of the time the Kitten is the one blamed when a married man looks her way. But I know from past experience that there is a certain type of married man that is constantly on the prowl for Kittens. I know, because I’ve met a few myself.  

I was working part time and attending night school working on my second degree. I was tired all the time from keeping a schedule that would have made Superman cry. During class one evening one of my classmates saunters over to my drawing board and strikes up a conversation. He was quite a bit older than me. “I noticed you on the road today leaving work. It seems we work right across the street from each other.” Still concentrating on my drawing and giving him half of my attention I made a sound of acknowledgment, then I said “Yeah, that’s nice.” I wasn’t terribly impressed by the conversation or the classmate. He talked some more than went back to his schoolwork.

That night my phone starts ringing at some ungodly hour. I was furious because I was also a chronic insomniac and had just drifted off to sleep. I had a 5AM wake up call for work and I knew this wasn’t it. I answered gruffly.


A male voice on the other end said casually “Hey! I hope you don’t mind me calling so late. I thought we could chat.”

His cheerfulness only irritated me more. “Who is this?”

More cheer from his end, “This is Mark, you know, from class.”

“How did you get my number?”I asked.

“I called information. You don’t mind me calling you, do you?”

“Why are you calling me?”

He was quiet for a beat and then said “I thought maybe you and me could go out or something.”

I knew from class that Mark was married. He wore a wedding band and talked about his wife. And here he was calling me at…I looked at the clock next to my bed…3AM! Motherfucker! Married Motherfucker!

I decided to play it cool and try to shame him into leaving me alone and said “Mark, aren’t you married?” His reply really pissed me off.

He said “So?” That’s right, he said *So?*.

SO, I explained it to the idiot. “You’re married and Mark, I am not interested in you. Don’t call me anymore.” and I hung up on him. He never called me again and avoided me in class after that.

A few months later I was in the market for a part time job to round out the money I had been saving for my spring break trip to Hawaii. I answered an ad for a painter’s helper and met Rob. Rob ran a painting crew of 4 and needed a helper. He hired me on the spot.

The next week Rob offered to come by and pick me up to carpool to the job site. He arrived early that morning. I opened the door when he knocked, grabbed my bag and was just about to step out when he asked if I had any coffee. I did not. Then he asked for a glass of water. I stepped back and allowed him to come inside, put down my bag and went to get him a glass of water.

I returned to find him sprawled on my sofa, grinning. The glass of water was just a ploy to get in my front door. I’m sure the next thing he thought he was getting into was my pants. I handed him the glass of water.

“You should just make me a key!” he exclaimed.

“A key for what?” I asked.

“A key to your apartment! That way next time I can just come right in.” He smiled at me.

I’m sure he thought he was being quite witty and suave. I wanted to pretend that this was not happening so I played dumb. “What do you mean Rob?” He shrugged his shoulders and lapsed into a deep Southern boy drawl, “You know what I mean.” Then he batted his eyes and smiled some more.

I was trying to maintain my composure because inside I was so angry I wanted to slap the stupid right off of his face. Instead I remained calm and once again explained the rules to another idiot ” Look Rob, I answered an ad for a job as a painter’s helper. You hired me to do a job as a painter’s helper. You did not hire a hooker. I am not making you a key to my apartment.” With that I took the glass of water out of his hand and pointed to my door. “Get out.”

He stood up. He wasn’t grinning anymore. He definitely wasn’t happy with the way things were turning out, and he had to take a potshot on his way to the door. “Well, good luck trying to raise the dough for your Hawaiian vacation bitch because you’re fired.”

Rob was married and had two young children. I sent him a postcard from Hawaii. On it I wrote “I made it to Hawaii! And I didn’t have to sleep with you to get here!” I know it was mean. I know I probably shouldn’t have done it. I knew his wife was a stay at home mother and would most likely see it before he got home that day. But you know what? I really don’t care. If it put him in hot water, if he got his ass handed to him, if she needed evidence for her divorce decree, then so be it.

My car was smashed in a fender bender one year and sent to a local shop for body work and repairs. The shop owner was someone I knew from high school days. He was overjoyed to see it was me when I walked into his office to discuss the repairs and how to contact my insurance company. He hadn’t changed much and was still just as charming and adorable as he had always been, and no wedding band! Yay!!

He took charge of the situation, made sure I had a rental car and we made plans to have dinner together the next evening. He asked if I could pick him up in my new rental car and gave me directions to his house.

I followed the directions he gave me, but there wasn’t a house there. As I was turning the car around in the cul-de-sac I noticed his small pickup parked at the edge of someone’s backyard in front of me. He came walking out on the path there and jogged over when he saw me.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you the directions would bring you to the back of my property. I always park in the back.” He hopped into the passenger’s seat and I turned the car in the direction to leave.

“Hey, do you mind taking a little detour on the way out of the neighborhood?” I told him I didn’t and he directed me to go around the block.

As we rounded the block I noticed a woman and three small children getting into a sedan parked in the driveway of the house I had just been parked behind. The same house where I picked up this guy that was now ducked down in my front seat.

“Shit!” he said. “I thought they had already left. I just wanted to show you how nice my house is.”

I slowly drove past the domestic scene in silence.

When we were down the street I pulled over. “Who was that woman with the children?”

“Oh them. That’s my wife and kids.” and he let out an embarrassed laugh.

I stared straight ahead.

I couldn’t even look at him.

“You’re married. You’re married and you have three small children. You’re married and you’re still taking women out on dates. Does your wife know this?”

Then I looked at him. The expression on his face was feigned innocence. “Hey look, you’re the one that wanted to have dinner with me. I can’t help it if I’m married, now can I?” I told him to get out of my car and made him walk back to his nice house. The nice house with the wife and the three small children that all appeared to be under the age of 5.

I still had to deal with him because my car was in his shop. He was a jerk every time I had to speak to him. His shop did a shoddy repair job on my car and returned it to me with a dead battery. He even went as far as spreading some untrue rumors about me being a lesbian to some of our mutual friends. Gee, he was a real prize! I guess when you find out the shop owner is a cheat and a liar when it comes to his personal life, it would be silly to expect him to have any integrity when it comes to his business.

During my single years I had other run-ins with this type of married man. I never went looking for them and when they approached me I went the other way as fast as I could move.

One man confessed to figuring out my school schedule and parking in the lot across the street so he could watch me leave class every night. His eventual confession was an effort to profess his undying love for me. I called him a stalker and told him I felt sorry for his wife that he had left sitting at home every night while he behaved like a crazy person.

Another time it was a man I worked with and had never even noticed enough to tell you what he looked like. On our way out of the office one night he handed me a Peter Gabriel tape and told me the title song reminded him of me. He said he was haunted by my eyes and then asked if he could come home with me. I walked away from him, still holding the tape and said over my shoulder “You’re married. I don’t date married men.” I got in my car, plugged the tape into my player and drove away from him. He never showed up for work again after that.

It seemed I was always having to remind some asshole that he was MARRIED. How can that commitment be so easily forgotten? I will never know what makes that kind of man feel he’s entitled to do and say as he pleases, no matter what rules, etiquette or laws of common decency are in place.

If he thinks so little of his wife, how in the world will he ever be able to give me the kind of respect I would definitely expect?

And what woman would ever give in to this kind of man’s attentions?

Even after the wife wises up and leaves the bastard, he’s still scum in my book. Worthless, rotten scum.

In my opinion, these are men that don’t deserve to find a good mate and they certainly don’t deserve to procreate. Cheater just sounds too tame a word to call them, so let’s call them what they really are…these men are Predators.

I’m not a Kitten anymore, but I know there are Kittens out there that have been in similar situations and haven’t known what to do. Here’s my advice to you;

Kittens have some of the sharpest little claws I’ve ever seen…use yours and leave a mark. Let the creep wear a scarlet letter for a change. Then everyone will know what he’s been up to. Until next time…meow, jerk!

About Madeline Scribes

A writer with a sense of humor. If anyone can laugh at life, it's me.
This entry was posted in All kinds of Advice and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to It’s not always the Kitten’s Fault

  1. Ellen says:

    It’s easy to betray your wife when you don’t have a conscience. Most of those guys are narcissists and sociopaths. They’ll never change.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I keep reminding myself, and others, of this same fact. They will never change. The only thing you can do to make the situation better for yourself is for you to change and that means changing your location to some place far away from the lunatics. 🙂


  2. True!

    Kittens grow up to be big fat cats! I am trying to get the Catwomen image into action here, I am too old to be playing games with these nit wits!


    Liked by 1 person

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