Kitties
Who has a cat?
Do you love it?
Do you think it loves you? Why? Because it purrs when you
scratch it? It rubs your leg when you put food out? Ahhhh, my widdle kitty how you wuuuuv me, purr purr...
WRONG!!
My cat is Mister Mellow. He sleeps through vacuum cleaners, through cracks of
thunder, through gunshots... I could run up to him, shrieking and screaming with my arms in the air like
a rabid howler monkey, and he'd sit there and wait for me to get close enough to rub his head against my leg.
If Dr. Cyclops suddenly broke into your house and sprayed you with his shrinking ray, you would cease
being Mama or Papa Cat and would instantly become FOOD. I'm convinced that my cat already thinks I'm
food, but has yet to figure out how to take me down.
He gets fresh food, fresh water, little treats,
toys, scratching sessions, pet brush sessions, purr purr purr, and yet still has to remind me that he's the
world's greatest hunter. One night I'm ready to close up shop for the night, so I opened the door to let him
inside, and he zoooomed past me with SOMETHING in his mouth. I'd seen "gifts" on the doormat
before, meaning the headless, mangled corpse of some species previously unknown on this planet, but
had never had him run inside with his finds before. From there he proceeded to treat me to his own nature
documentary for the next half hour while I tried in vain to get him to GO BACK OUTSIDE!
"Note the astounding dexterity in which I snapped off my prey's head in one bite... And here I
throw the animal up into the air repeatedly and shake the body vigorously to complete the kill. Let's see
that again and again and again..."
Now under normal circumstances, this cat will go
anywhere that I do. I go to my bedroom, he's there. The bathroom, there. The kitchen... well, that's a given.
And for a half hour, I could not get him to bring that damned thing outside! And this was winter when
this happened. Winter! Cold, windy, midnight type of bone-chilling cold, and I'm standing outside with
my coat and gloves on, trying to coax him back outside. "Come join me in the cold, kitty! Bring your
gift to me out here in the cold!" Riiiiight.
So after all this time, I used my last resort. I called
my mother. Not because she could help, but to tell her the latest amusing story of her grandcat. I have
no kids and never will, so this is the best she gets me. "Moooom, my cat brought in a dead
animal!" But before she could even pick up the phone, THAT'S when he decides to follow me. He
threw the animal at my feet while the phone was ringing, so I hung up and bolted for another room.
So this is why there's no doubt in my mind that there's no such thing as a domesticated cat. Give it
any chance at all and YOU'LL be the headless corpse being tossed up and shaken until your bones fly
out. You think that's gross? Tell your cat this story. Sure, it'll *pretend* not to understand you, but meanwhile
it's thinking, "Oh my GOD, that is such a good idea."
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