Tuesday, March 17, 2009
There’s this cat that comes to visit everyday. I don’t know which of the neighbours owns him but he spends an awful lot of time at my place. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if he was a stray but he’s a fat little fucker so I figure someone must be feeding him. I call him Clayton. The cat you have when you don’t have a cat. You see the thing is…Clayton would have to be, undoubtedly the dumbest fucking cat on earth. Honestly. I’ve tried all levels of reasonable torture on this beastly creature and still he keeps coming back. I thought my memory was bad. You see it all started about three years ago. We’d just moved into this house and I’d scored a new job at the MMMs. I was wearing my finest pair of black slacks when the little bugger snuck up behind me and smeared his vile, ungroomed coat all over my leg. The fluff brush was buried somewhere deep in a packing box of course, so I was forced to change outfits and ended up being late on the first day of the job. Then there was the time he snuck into the house and crash-tackled the cockatiel cage and let’s not forget the presents he leaves at the door for me…like the headless mice and lizards and vomit. Vile animal! So anyways, since then I usually start my day giving Clayton a swift kick in the cods. He’ll untangle himself and stroll back purring...looking for more leg to rub. And on it goes. Lately I’ve taken to hosing him with the jet setting on maximum. He’ll go hide in the bushes and wait until I turn off the tap. Soon he’s back for more lovin’ only this time he’s wet and smelly. Now I track him down in the bushes and saturate him until he decides he's had enough and does the bolt. An hour later he’s back like nothing’s happened. Cats are so not smart people. So don’t even go there.