Let me preface this by saying that I'm not a huge fan of cats to begin with. Now before any of the "cat people" begin raining doo-doo on my head, please realize that I don't HATE them. I'm just a bit edgy around them. You know...uncomfortable: Like Glenn Beck at a civil rights rally. They are sneaky, cold little freaks that really don't seem to quite register the goings-on around them. You look at your cat and it just looks back at you with this "what the hell are YOU looking at" expression.
I'm a dog guy. I have two of them. Stanley, my black Labrador, is a semi-comatose lummox with a supernaturally loud bark (we think before we adopted him he must have accidentally swallowed a megaphone) who sleeps 23.5 hours a day awaking only to beg for food and, reluctantly, go outside and do his bid-ness. Jenson, the other pooch, is my little buddy. Cute little cattle dog mixture of...well...a lot of things, really. Hell, he's part yak as far as I know. He follows me everywhere and always looks at me like: "Hey, man! What do you say we go to the big white box (the fridge) and pull some food out??" See, they INTERACT with me. They don't try and kill me...like the cat.
Anyway, back to Janet the cat. This little beast truly did, many years ago, cross that fine line between "a little bit off" and "just freaking nuts." I call her The Loch Ness Monster: Rarely is she seen and when the occasional sighting occurs it's REALLY a big deal. The only photos of her look like they were taken by Abraham Zapruder. (Who? The guy who took the JFK assassination film. Try and keep up...) OK, maybe I'm taking a little artistic license because she's ALWAYS around when not wanted.
She may love my wife but Janet wants me dead. The evidence is overwhelming. First is through sleep deprivation: Many mornings at around 4:00am the little rodent leaps up on the bed and begins to meow like she's just won backstage passes at an Elvis Costello concert. Loud meows that seem like she's barely able to breathe between each one. Trying to sleep through this torrent of cat sounds is like trying to sleep on a bicycle. The second, and this is her FAVORITE, is the fact that she is trying to get me to suffer an "accidental death" by plummeting down the stairs in my sleep-deprived state. It's a show down. She becomes James Bond Kitty trying to sneak up the stairs while I'm coming down. Upon reaching me she she hugs the wall desperately trying to make herself as small as possible as if I'm going to peel all of her fur off and make a hat out of it. The real challenge comes when I'm carrying boxes, laundry baskets, guitar amps (if I dropped THAT on her I'd need to take her to the vet in a pizza box)...you know; heavy stuff. Somehow she finds the nerve to confront me (devious little rat) and skitters around beneath my feet while I totter around like a big drunk idiot trying to avoid leaving an adidas imprint on her back. She knows it's extra points if she can make this happen while I'm walking down the steps. It's all I can do to not end up on my ass. The cat is trying to kill me, plain and simple. Why, I'll never know. Perhaps it doesn't like my cologne or maybe it's just a case of her being made of pure evil (Pronounced "E-VILL). Either way; look out, Janet, I'm watching you. I need you to know that I am judge and jury here. In short, nanny-nanny boo-boo.
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