22 June 2004
66
R. Linda:
The cat stayed the entire day under the bed. Every time I'd go in the room, I'd be subject to hearing it growling. If I went too close to the bed, it would swipe at me. I did gather the courage to look under the bed from a distance, flashing me trusty flashlight under the dust ruffle to get a gander. The thing has enough hair to wig out several bald men. It is a long-haired Persian (I think) with yellow eyes that slant to slits. The fangs on it are as long as a walrus's tusks and I be afraid of it.
In me quest to find the cat dishes, I did finally locate them. They were stacked neatly in a stack of seven wee black bowls with gold edging next to Fancy Feast cat food. Yes, gold edging. I should have plates so fine. The problem was I thought these cute little bowls were for cereal and had eaten two days out of them. Don't even comment.
I found the poo pan as well, that be me shoes. The thing is using me shoes for number two and me suitcase for number one. I could bloody kill it. Me shirts are sour-smelling affairs that you know I can't wash the smell out of. That's nine shirts in the dustbin and me going shopping tomorrow for dress shirts. We know those don't come cheap. I have cursed the evil thing to hell and back. As for me shoes, well, it uses one pair in particular, and they would happen to be me Walter Genuin Italian leathers. The only good pair I own and will ever own of that brand. Begorrah me, I can't afford another pair of those in me lifetime, and the only reason I have a pair is because a friend of mine got them at cost for me because he was working for the company. He's not there anymore, so you see the problem.
About an hour ago, the bloody thing emerged from under the bed. It did that horse dance where it walks sideways with its back arched in a scardy cat position. It hissed across the room at me as I quickly ran to close the bedroom door. It must have smelled the food I placed in those extravagant bowls. Once it got into the kitchen I went to slam the door shut to find the kitchen door was one of those swinging affairs. It came back at me and slammed me in the nose. I had a bloody nose and couldn't get in the kitchen for a towel because the cat was in there. I danced around to the water closet and sat on the tub with me head back, waiting for the blood to stop flowing.
Once the bleeding staunched itself, I went into the bedroom to do the rest of me unpacking. That's when I discovered a powerful odour in the room. Sniffing through me injured proboscis, I made me way to me closet where I found me shoes doubling as a poo pan. I was so angry me nose started bleeding again, so I went to lay full on me back on the bed to stop the blood. Me head was near the suitcase when I thought the odour of cat was awfully powerful. I knew the thing wasn't in there with me, and it dawned on me what and where the smell was coming from. Sure enough, on flipping back the suitcase cover, there were me shirts soiled to the max.
If I wasn't so afraid of that bloody cat, I'd toss it out the window. Once I staunched the bleeding for the second time, I marched into the living room, courage coming from the anger deep inside of me as I made me way toward the kitchen door. I took mind of the swinging door and carefully opened it a crack. There was no cat anywhere. This could not be. I could see the entire kitchen from the crack and it had to be in there somewhere. I opened the door a little more and was about to stick me fool head inside for a look-see when it attacked me ankles. It must have been at the door waiting and fool me, thought it was somewhere way inside.
I dropped the towel from me nose and grabbed the cat to detach it from me jeans. It had locked its claws into the fabric and was biting me as it hung on. I tripped over one of the many hassocks backwards, trying to dislodge the damn thing. The more I pulled, the more it hung on. Those teeth were embedded in me wrist but good. When I fell, I hit me head on the edge of the coffee table, and as I rolled to me belly to get on me hands to lift meself up, I inadvertently hit into a bookshelf, and the books came tumbling off, scaring the freaking cat and felling me back to the carpet. I lay there with books atop me for a while, dazed, blood flowing from me nose again, me socks shredded, me hands bleeding, and I be sure I was foaming at the mouth by that time.
I have cleaned myself and the living room up. The cat, I have no clue. I know it is here, but I don't know where. I dread moving around too much; I don't attract its attention, and it attacks me. It has a full stomach, and I be sure it will be scratching at the bedroom door to relieve itself on my clothing. If only I had a gun.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
The cat stayed the entire day under the bed. Every time I'd go in the room, I'd be subject to hearing it growling. If I went too close to the bed, it would swipe at me. I did gather the courage to look under the bed from a distance, flashing me trusty flashlight under the dust ruffle to get a gander. The thing has enough hair to wig out several bald men. It is a long-haired Persian (I think) with yellow eyes that slant to slits. The fangs on it are as long as a walrus's tusks and I be afraid of it.
In me quest to find the cat dishes, I did finally locate them. They were stacked neatly in a stack of seven wee black bowls with gold edging next to Fancy Feast cat food. Yes, gold edging. I should have plates so fine. The problem was I thought these cute little bowls were for cereal and had eaten two days out of them. Don't even comment.
I found the poo pan as well, that be me shoes. The thing is using me shoes for number two and me suitcase for number one. I could bloody kill it. Me shirts are sour-smelling affairs that you know I can't wash the smell out of. That's nine shirts in the dustbin and me going shopping tomorrow for dress shirts. We know those don't come cheap. I have cursed the evil thing to hell and back. As for me shoes, well, it uses one pair in particular, and they would happen to be me Walter Genuin Italian leathers. The only good pair I own and will ever own of that brand. Begorrah me, I can't afford another pair of those in me lifetime, and the only reason I have a pair is because a friend of mine got them at cost for me because he was working for the company. He's not there anymore, so you see the problem.
About an hour ago, the bloody thing emerged from under the bed. It did that horse dance where it walks sideways with its back arched in a scardy cat position. It hissed across the room at me as I quickly ran to close the bedroom door. It must have smelled the food I placed in those extravagant bowls. Once it got into the kitchen I went to slam the door shut to find the kitchen door was one of those swinging affairs. It came back at me and slammed me in the nose. I had a bloody nose and couldn't get in the kitchen for a towel because the cat was in there. I danced around to the water closet and sat on the tub with me head back, waiting for the blood to stop flowing.
Once the bleeding staunched itself, I went into the bedroom to do the rest of me unpacking. That's when I discovered a powerful odour in the room. Sniffing through me injured proboscis, I made me way to me closet where I found me shoes doubling as a poo pan. I was so angry me nose started bleeding again, so I went to lay full on me back on the bed to stop the blood. Me head was near the suitcase when I thought the odour of cat was awfully powerful. I knew the thing wasn't in there with me, and it dawned on me what and where the smell was coming from. Sure enough, on flipping back the suitcase cover, there were me shirts soiled to the max.
If I wasn't so afraid of that bloody cat, I'd toss it out the window. Once I staunched the bleeding for the second time, I marched into the living room, courage coming from the anger deep inside of me as I made me way toward the kitchen door. I took mind of the swinging door and carefully opened it a crack. There was no cat anywhere. This could not be. I could see the entire kitchen from the crack and it had to be in there somewhere. I opened the door a little more and was about to stick me fool head inside for a look-see when it attacked me ankles. It must have been at the door waiting and fool me, thought it was somewhere way inside.
I dropped the towel from me nose and grabbed the cat to detach it from me jeans. It had locked its claws into the fabric and was biting me as it hung on. I tripped over one of the many hassocks backwards, trying to dislodge the damn thing. The more I pulled, the more it hung on. Those teeth were embedded in me wrist but good. When I fell, I hit me head on the edge of the coffee table, and as I rolled to me belly to get on me hands to lift meself up, I inadvertently hit into a bookshelf, and the books came tumbling off, scaring the freaking cat and felling me back to the carpet. I lay there with books atop me for a while, dazed, blood flowing from me nose again, me socks shredded, me hands bleeding, and I be sure I was foaming at the mouth by that time.
I have cleaned myself and the living room up. The cat, I have no clue. I know it is here, but I don't know where. I dread moving around too much; I don't attract its attention, and it attacks me. It has a full stomach, and I be sure it will be scratching at the bedroom door to relieve itself on my clothing. If only I had a gun.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
