Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Talking To The Cat: Part 2

Things have changed since I gained the ability to speak with my cat.
He woke me up at dawn this morning by sitting on my chest and shouting into my face: “AWAKEN, HUMAN, AND EXPERIENCE THE JOY OF SERVING ME!”
I woke up, convulsing. “uuuh!”  The cat’s face was only an inch or so away from mine. His whiskers were tickling me.  “Dammit, cat….” I muttered.
He turned around and lifted his tail. I tried to avert my eyes from his exposed sphincter. “Are you not in awe at the awesome power of CAT ASS?” He asked.
“NO! Now let me sleep. Fucking sadistic cat. “ I threw him off the bed and rolled over, asleep in seconds.
That was a mistake.
I woke six hours later, feeling much better. I vaguely remembered the dawn incident, but I dismissed it as a dream. I moseyed through the house and grabbed my first caffeine of the day and started to fix breakfast. I happened to glance out the window. What I saw caused my colon to spasm with horror.
A pyramid of dead birds was arranged neatly on the hood of my car. There had to be at least a dozen of them. Blood and entrails were splattered all over my car. Lying calmly next to the pile was my cat, looking satisfied.
I burst out of the front door. “CAT!” I shouted in rage. “WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!”
He lazily opened one eye. “That isn’t proper grammar. I shall not reply to this filth.” He closed it again.
I was so angry I thought my head might actually explode. Instead I farted. Not just any fart, either; it was a sixty second long bass rumble that shook the windows and had me checking my pants. Yep, a couple of squeakers and a skid mark. Oh well, no time for that now. I had cat ass to kick.
I grabbed the garden hose and turned it on him full blast, using my thumb to narrow the opening. The resulting increase in pressure showered the cat in water from a full ten feet away and knocked his pile of dead birds off the car. “MEEEROOOWWW!” He howled.
The cat shot off my car as if he’d been launched by a catapult, or my recent fart. He flew through the air and landed at a dead sprint, streaking into the nearby bushes. I blasted water after him, but lost him in the underbrush.
“How do ya like that, huh?” I turned the hose off, but kept it ready. A nearby shrub vented a stream of curses.
“So, I’m guessing this means you hate water?” I asked the shrub, innocently.
The shrub (or rather, the cat hiding under it) shook in rage. “You know goddamn well we hate water, you stupid son of a…” he trailed off into a stream of obscenity so vile it impressed even me.  
“Yeah, well next time don’t wake me up at fucking dawn!”
“Well next time get up and feed me like you’re supposed to!”
I heard a footstep nearby. I whirled, surprised.
One of my neighbors was standing there, staring at me, his eyes wide. I realized about thirty seconds too late that, from his point of view, I was standing there half naked with dookie in my pants and holding a garden hose like it was an assault rifle, screaming obscenities into the shrubbery. In an attempt to salvage the situation, I managed to smile weakly. I frantically tried to think of an excuse. “Women and their sex games, eh?” I said, and shrugged.
His eyes widened even further. Then he turned and ran. The cat snickered evilly. I threw down the garden hose, frustrated.
The cat emerged to gloat at his victory. “And now you know why we are the dominant species on the planet, fool! Those who mess with the cat shall feel his claws! You shall learn to fear and obey, like so many –“
I grabbed him mid-rant and ran inside. “BATH TIME!” I shouted gleefully.
The cat was so shocked all he managed was a single look of utter horror before I made it into the bathroom.
The police arrived thirty minutes later. My neighbor had called them, the dick, and given them some garbled story about madman with a scat fetish holding some woman hostage. They burst into my bathroom just in time to stop me from bleeding to death from hundreds of deep, nasty scratches. The cat, of course, was fine. I got back from the hospital ten hours later to find the cat had arranged the dead birds into a swastika on the driveway. It was clearly visible from the road. I parked my car over it. I’m going to have to make peace with him somehow. The cost of open war is too high.

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