Feet control me.

A few years ago, when I was 19, I had a roommate who had two cats. She eventually moved out and left one of her cats behind.

Rather than put the cat on the street, I went on Craigslist, hoping to find a home for her. I wrote a post about how friendly the cat was and how she had lived a difficult life and that she deserved a happy ending. I included the only picture I had of her, and, unfortunately, I was in it.

I got about ten responses. Only one of them was actually about the cat.

Among the responses were (and I'm paraphrasing):

"I don't want the cat, but I want your sweater puppies."
"Not only will you give away the cat, but will you sacrifice yourself to me?"
"[Insert the writer's auto biography: hair color, eye color, favorite ice cream, job, car, and a bunch of superficial features about himself] ... We're a match made in heaven. Now let me take you out. Tomorrow at 7 sound good?"

However, there was one response that took the cake and had me in stitches. To this day, I wish I had kept the e-mail.

Some guy went into a long soliloquy about how he was in love with feet; that he couldn't stop thinking about feet. He then went and offered me money to let him worship my feet. Soon enough, he was rambling on and on about how he couldn't live without touching a woman's foot for a certain time period and that he had, had, had to have my feet or he'd die a terrible death. He finished the e-mail with, "Feet control me."

After I managed to stop laughing, I wondered what on Earth drove him to send me an e-mail like that. I was just a girl trying to rehome a cat! For all he knew, I could have the most disgusting feet in the world. Or I could not even have feet at all!

Even though this guy was one of the creeps trolling for god knows what on Craigslist, I will never forget him.

I really wish I saved the e-mail. I really, really do.

Oh, and in related news, I found a great home for the cat in the south side. She now lives with a couple and their two young kids.