Hide the remote. Football season is here.

Football season is in full effect in my house.

This usually means several things.

First, special meals are prepared on Sundays. I have no idea why any game constitutes having an extraordinary meal of hot sausage, boudain balls, spaghetti and meatballs, pizza, chili, hamburgers and hot dogs, or gyros. Does this food somehow add to the entertainment value of twenty-two men slamming into one another over some little thing they call a pigskin? I don't think so.

(I'd honestly like to know why they even label that oddly shaped ball a pigskin. Since when did hog skin become so valuable that men would fight over it?)

Second, it means nothing gets done around my house. My human pet will wake up early, make a pot of coffee, and then prepare for the games by watching something the homo sapiens call 'the pregame show'. 'The pregame show' is similar to the ancient Greek oracle: You visit 'the pregame show' to 'know' whether or not your team is going to win that day by listening to 'the predictions' of 'analysts' (known also by the humans as 'color commentators') who used to be former players of the game. The hilarity continues as these analysts perform, dance, and argue amongst themselves as to whose predictions are correct.

Needless to say, the human pet eats it all up as if it were Fancy Feast for the soul.

Then the game commences, and I swear, it's as if time stops in the house. Only two things will get my pet off of the couch: the need to smoke when her team is down and a trip to the litter box. That is it. If I were to break some sort of appendage or kill Isis when she wasn't looking, I promise you, it could wait until the end of the game.

Nothing is more important than watching her beloved Steelers.

Finally, the third thing is that I encourage all of my friends to purchase stock in Excedrin as I undoubtedly purchase thousands of bottles throughout the football season. The human pet is notorious for screaming and yelling at her television. It's as if she truly believes that her men in black and gold can hear her, but instead, only my cochleas are suffering from her onslaught of cuss words at high-pitched frequencies.

I personally think angels cry when my human pet watches football.

I know I do.

So, for all of these reasons and many more, I am adding football season to my Litter List. You make my life a living hell for seven months, and all I have are painful memories (and ears) to show for it. Consider yourself warned, football season: I'm coming with a cancellation notice in paw!