To say that I am not a cat person is a gross understatement. God, in His infinite wisdom, made me allergic to them so I could have an easy scapegoat in lieu of offending cat lovers. I have started speaking out against cats and their wily, wicked ways. I’m going to talk about the spawn of satan meow.
Earlier this year I was at a friend’s house to watch movies. He went upstairs to take a call from his girlfriend and I was left alone downstairs with his two very territorial cats. The big one, let’s call him “Monster”, crept toward me, his black and gray tail flicking back and forth. Our eyes were in a deadlock and neither of us willed the other to look away. (I’m good at staring contests.) Being a polite person, I have taught myself to take my shoes off when enter someone’s house, as to not track anything in from outside. In my peripheral vision I noticed I had worn flip flops that day, so I didn’t have the protection of a pair of socks. Drat. This Monster started pacing back and forth in front of me on the couch, both blocking me in while subsequently claiming his territory. I knew he could feel the fear as I projected an invisible wall of protection around me. He stopped pacing and very gingerly moved toward me. We still haven’t broken eye contact, mind you. He stops at my feet and lowers his nose to my toes. By this time my heart is pounding so hard, rushing my blood through my body so fast that I’m starting to feel light headed. I realize I’m holding my breath and slowly release it in a soft “whoosh”. I’m standing by now, my entire five foot three frame towering over him, letting this creature sniff my feet. He seems to bore of me and I gingerly sit down on the couch, his couch I presume, and tuck my feet under me Indian style. The Monster’s interest has become piqued by something other than this new stranger with a mess of hair that I’m sure he’d like to get his claws in. I’m delighted in his absence and start to relax.
Not long after, as I’m waiting for Casanova to tire of his conversation with Miss Lovely herself, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. Who says cats are the only one with extra preceptory censors? The darn thing is back again and staring at me with his quizzical and satanic eyes. I decide to call the truce. “Hello cat” I quietly say in the most even, soft and melodic tone I can muster. I’m met with a violent HISSSSSSS and I decide it’s time to get away from this evil creature before some real harm is done. I survey my surroundings. It’s a small apartment and all of the downstairs rooms are opened to one another save the bathroom by the door. Aha! I rise from the couch and make my way toward my sanctuary. The Monster follows me, weaving in and out of my legs as I’m making my way across the floor. I duck in the bathroom as quickly as I can and pull the door behind me with a start, almost taking a cat’s face with me. That would have been good luck, for me, at least. ‘Home free’ I think! It is at this time that I first hear the frantic scratch of a paw coming under the lip of the door. “Oh God!” I squeak. The thing is trying to claw his way under the door. This goes on for a minute and I’m laughing amidst tear filled eyes as I’m documenting this occurrence on my facebook to get my mind off of the severity of the situation. “Cat got your tongue” has suddenly taken on an entire new meaning. I had originally planned to stay in the bathroom for a few minutes, but there was no way I was going out there now without reinforcements. I could hear Casanova’s soft voice in the rooms above me and I wondered why he even invited me over anyway. By this time it’s been a good fifteen minutes. I thought guys didn’t like talking on the phone. I stay holed up in my prison for what seemed an eternity planning my escape until finally I hear “
Oh glorious! My name has never sounded so sweet. “I’m in the bathroom.” I say, relief flooding through me. “I’ll be right out.”
This is just one of my many run-in’s with such monsters. I realize it’s ridiculous for me to have such horrid and vivid daydreams of a cat pouncing on me and shredding my skin, but have you ever seen a couch that a cat has gotten a hold of? For that matter, a shredding pole? Are they even called that? I wouldn’t know because I’m not familiar with cat terminology and have no interest in becoming an expert. I have found cats mean, sinister, untrustworthy, unfriendly and unsociable. As I’m not one to generalize or stereotype anything, I would like to make it clear that I do not think every cat in the world is evil, but I do not enjoy the company of a feline friend. I hope you have wonderful cat stories where they’re sliding down rainbows and kissing butterflies and being the best pal you could ever ask for. As for me, I won’t be a cat lady, no matter if I am a spinster.
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