The title of this post may confuse you, but listen to the tale of the evil one with the tail…
Wait. That’s not right…
You may have heard (seen) me mention the Fondue Goddess before. I’m serious… she’s a goddess… of fondue… her business card says so.
The Fondue Goddess has a cat. This cat is named Rocky. She calls him, “Handsome Kitty”… I call him evil.
One of the first times I met Rocky. I was doing what I do with cats. (Get your mind out of the gutter) I was petting him. Rocky, for some reason loves me. I pick him up, insta-purr. I make fun of him, he rubs on me… We’re bros… we’re brothers from another… species?
Rocky, it turns out is a tricksy hobbitses… He flopped over onto his belly, inviting me to scratch. Well… I have four cats in my home – Zoe, Trance, Meep and Lilly.
I know… I should order my crazy cat lady starter kit now.
Now, I will let you know this: I am not your standard, inexperienced cat owner. I have had cats all my life. I know that these are not the cuddly, cute sweethearts they want everyone to believe they are. In reality, owning a cat is a great deal like living with a bipolar schizophrenic who is in the midst of a hyper-manic episode and high on PCP. Add to this the fact that they have razor blades in their feet and needles in their face. Did I also mention that they have an enzyme in their saliva that is extremely painful to about 70% of all humans and cats mouths have so many bacteria in their mouths that a bite can become infected within 30 minutes? It’s a bit like living with Lindsay Lohan… or the Jonas Brothers.
Needless to say, this isn’t my first rodeo. Like most bipolar schizophrenic who is in the midst of a hyper-manic episode, they have different personalities.
I honestly wasn’t thinking when I reached down to scratch his belly.
Both the Fondue Goddess and the Sisterface cried out as I reached for his furry undercarriage.
It was like one of those moments of realization in a bad action movie, right before the bomb goes off… Time slowed down as they called in unison…
It was too late. I had realized too late… it was a trap.
Like the X-men’s Wolverine, his claws and teeth came out. (Sorry to interrupt the narrative, but the first time I wrote that sentence, I typed “his clause and teeth came out.” Doesn’t that just call up images of the cat snapping his fingers *I KNOW CATS DON’T HAVE FINGERS* and another cat, a lawyer cat strolling in to present me with a cease and desist order???)
With a metallic clang, the strap snapped shut. Rocky was gone and all I was left with was a bloody stump.
I was rushed to the hospital frigate and they replaced my hand with one of those cool bionic ones, just like Luke has.
Or maybe that was the toxic enzyme in his slobber… I’m too afraid to find out though, so we may never know.
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