Sunday, January 22, 2012

The Cat Is Planning My Demise

His name is Bob and, at first glance, he seems innocent enough.

However, I have reason to believe he wants me dead, and I'm now convinced he has the skills necessary to accomplish this feat.

He was a stray cat who I rescued from a gas station parking lot over 15 years ago. He was malnourished and covered in fleas. Now he is fat and resentful.

He led a good life as head of our household until a few things didn't go his way.
We adopted two children and then we moved to a bigger house. After all of that trauma, we had the audacity to take in another stray cat.

Now he spends his days plotting various ways to kill me.

I know he is capable of murder. He's killed before. He's a serial cardinal killer. I'm sure his 'Most Wanted' poster is hanging in bird police stations across the neighborhood. He thinks nothing of killing an occasional baby rabbit or mole. He's absolutely ruthless.

He meows incessantly. No doubt following me around cursing cat obscenities that sound like simple "meows" to the human ear. He's tried tripping me on countless occasions, but he's not yet had much luck bringing me down. So now he's getting clever.

The morning started as any other morning. I awoke with a full bladder. I got out of bed and, without turning on a single light, I walked towards the bathroom. As I stepped into the bathroom, my morning took a turn for the worse.

In the darkness of the bathroom, my bare feet stepped in something wet and thick. I slipped across the bathroom floor and an "Ohhhhhhhhh nooooooooo!" escaped from my lips.

This woke my husband who came running. He flipped on the bathroom light, and we discovered I was standing in cat vomit. Lots of cat vomit.

The cat vomit (if you'll allow me to continue) was pink and chunky. It most closely resembled those summertime salads that are made with gelatin and marshmallows. Only the cat doesn't eat gelatin or marshmallows so I remain perplexed as to how he managed to produce such a consistency. I stood staring at it waiting to awake from this hideous dream.

The sensation of cat vomit between my toes brought me back to reality. I gingerly made my way to the shower leaving cat vomit footprints along the way.

I sanitized my feet as my husband cleaned up the crime scene.

Once you've stepped in an obscene amount of cat vomit, you look at life differently. Well, you certainly look at your cat differently.

Now when the children approach him with doll clothes, I am quick to rescue him. When they suggest creating a maze for him made out of cardboard boxes and duct tape, I redirect their creative impulses. He need only make eye contact with me for me to jump to his defense.

He may be a small fur ball, but his stomach can hold a shockingly large volume of pink chunks.

Should I slip, fall, bump my head or otherwise die of "suspicious" injuries, please let this serve as a notice to law enforcement that the cat is capable of anything.

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