Feeding the Kitty
There are a lot of folks out there who think I dislike animals. They note my disdain for PETA, my liking for steak and chicken and my propensity to enjoy the random hunt for various varmints.
It is to these people that I point out my enduring love for animals. I point out, too, that my disliking for PETA stems not from my disliking of animals but for my disliking of the people who are a part of PETA. Those people are idiots. I hate idiots.
Steak and chicken, on the other hand, are a staple in any human beings diet. Quite frankly, if I get wind of a particular processing plant being unnecessarily cruel to animals I will avoid purchasing meats that are processed by that plant.
As for hunting; hunting is not just fun, it is good for the environment. Many animals are living in areas with no natural predators. These animals would over populate and then die of disease or starvation if their populations were left unchecked. Besides, they are pretty damned tasty, too.
Frequently, I point out how often I have cared for sickly animals. Many is the time that I have pulled off of the road to pick up an animal (snakes usually) and get it to the safety of brush or other covering. Most people don't really give a shit.
I have been known to pick up stray dogs who appeared to be suffering from starvation. These animals I nursed back to health and later gave to my Vietnamese neighbor. He really loves dogs.
It is true that there are some animals that I dislike. Among those animals, as most people know, are wild rats. I have no use for wild rats. They are destructive and ridden with all sorts of nasty things like the bubonic plague. Okay, it's not really the rats that carry the plague so much as the parasites that they play host to.
The other animals that I dislike intensely are cats. There is nothing good about cats. Cats are obnoxious little animals that know only one emotion; disdain. You can feed them and treat them lovingly. You can give them food and shelter. You can pet them and keep them from harm.
In the end, however, cats are evil little beasts that will turn pissy and mean for no reason other than they decided to do so. If you leave a cat in a room with a baby they will kill them. If you have other pets that aren't cats they will kill them. And if human adults weren't bigger than they are they would kill us too, never caring that they would eventually starve to death. It would be worth it to them. Cats are evil.
To illustrate my point I will relate to you, dear reader, the incident that convinced me of their true evil.
It was a warm day. The sky was blue and light tufts floated in the air. The birds were singing and squirrels were cutting acorns in nearby trees. Children were playing in the park and parents were basking in the warmth of the springtime.
A friend of mine had gone on vacation and asked me to feed and water his cat. He also asked me to take a little time to give his cat some attention, as he would be gone for nearly a week.
Being the animal loving idiot that I am, I agreed to care for his kitty. I was certain that it would be no trouble. And, he assured me; his cat was a little ball of furry love.
After letting myself into his home, I went into the room where the cat was left while he was on vacation. The kitty was nowhere to be seen. So, as a good friend would, I got out the bag of cat food and readied myself to poor it into his dish.
Out of the blue came a wailing. The wailing was followed by a sudden blow to my back and accompanied by tiny holes in the skin that covered my back. I was bleeding. I was in pain. I was a bit irritated, too.
The holes in my back were followed by a sudden scream. Those were my screams. Not only had I been startled by the sudden attack but I was in severe pain.
I straightened up in time to see the beast bearing down on me from atop a bookcase along the right hand wall. Just as he entered my site, the little ball of fur made a second pass at me, wailing as he leapt at me.
I was fortunate enough to be blessed with rather good reflexes. And so, I ducked under the flying mass of wailing fur and claws. Kitty landed in a trashcan, quickly leapt out, overturning it and ducked out of sight.
It was obvious at that point that I was in great peril. And so I steeled myself to get food and water into his dish as quickly as I could so that I might exit the danger zone post haste.
After the kitty had bolted out of sight the room became eerily quiet. I waited for a moment, listening for signs of another impending attack. There was nothing. And so, satisfied that Mr. Kitty had given up on his attack I made my way to the bathroom so that I might retrieve and fill his water dish.
Once he had been properly watered I still had the task of filling his food dish with cat food. And so, as I returned to the bedroom to grab his bag of food, the little beast pounced on me, making a strafing run at the back of my legs and leaving deep scratches in my calves. Growling, I stood up and steeled myself for the battle that I knew would be upon me.
With little warning, the cat shot out from a place of hiding, climbed the afore mentioned bookcase and leapt at me, wailing the wail of the damned, claws outstretch, mouth grinning with readied fangs.
I swung with an open hand, swatting at him while trying not to injure him. On of us missed his target. That was me. One of us hit his target. That was him. And again, I was bleeding from another wound.
Upon finding purchase on the floor, the angry ball of fur ran under the bed. And, for a moment, there was silence. And then, again, I heard that hateful wail. He was behind me! As I spun I saw him leap from the dresser with that same hateful teeth-baring grin on his face.
I reacted quickly, stretching my hand out to backhand the attacking hairball. I scored a direct hit, sending him flying to the wall to crash to the floor.
Again, he disappeared, only to reappear moments later, still wailing his battle cry. He rushed me from the other side of the room, galloping along the floor. He leapt at my face, surprising me with his agility.
This time, however, I was ready. I balled my hand into a fist and struck outward, hitting him in his evil smile and reversing his trajectory. In a moment, he was under the bed, moaning at his defeat.
Relieved, sweating and bleeding, I completed my duties, accompanied by his sad wailing from beneath the bed. Then, I left the room and sauntered out the door to my car and returned home.
When I arrived home I realized that the little bastard had done far more damage than I had thought. My shirt was torn and tattered and stained with my own blood. My jeans were no better, suffering from multiple rips and bloodstains.
As for me…I was in no better shape. My hands, arms and legs were a mass of angry welts. To say that I was in pain would have been an understatement.
The shower that followed the removal of my clothing was not fun. As soon as the water hit my wounds I was graced with the intense burning that accompanies such wounds.
As I stood in my shower, watching blood wash off of my body to swirl around and down the drain, I remembered that I had another four days of this torture. One of us must surely die, I thought, and it wouldn't be me.
Fortunately, the battles were not so bad as the first. I was ready for the attacks, wearing thick clothing and carrying a tennis racket for the remaining feedings. And at the end of the week the score was six/luv in favor of me. Unfortunately, it took several weeks for the infections to clear up.
I hate cats.
