April 30, 2006
SUPERCAT
The most awesome thing happened earlier, and I have to share it, even if it's only funny to me (the sole witness of said awesomeness, as my girlfriend was merely an innocent bystander/latecomer).
We got two new cats a while back, they've both blossomed into beautiful, graceful, psychotic heathens hell-bent on destruction. But we love 'em anyways. They get into everything, tick me off to no end, but I totally understand because I'd do the same goddamn thing if I was a cat.
I took a walk and bought some much-needed home stuff today and had a couple of huge plastic bags left over. Out of the kindness of my heart, I left one of them on the floor for the two monsters to fiddle around with. After getting all the home stuff situated, I plopped my ass down on the couch to watch an episode or two of Firefly (yes, despite all my dieting/exercise, I'm still a sedentary liberal douchebag at heart) and do a light upper-body workout session. Halfway through the second disc, I hear a high-pitched screech, followed by a loud rustling noise.
My first concern was that the tree-thing had returned.
Then I realized that whatever it may have been, it was in the apartment with us.
No sooner did I come to this conclusion when the rustling noise came hauling ass towards me. A black streak, trailed by white, crinkled across the carpet in front of me at speeds that would have made Chuck Yeager's asshole pucker. The streak dashed behind the couch, making a whooshing noise as it negotiated the tight space, and broke free, circling the stationary bike.
That's when I realized that the streak had print on it.
"Bed, Bath, and Beyond".
Fucking cat.
I looked down to see Phoebe hauling ass with a look of sheer terror and desperation in her eyes, running as fast as she could in an attempt to shake the frightening parasite that was latched onto her midsection like a leech on a fresh wound. She darted back and forth, trailed by this gigantic fucking plastic sack.
My fierce paternal instincts kicked in, and I promptly burst into peals of giggling laughter. The girlfriend turned from her computer desk to figure out what all the fuss was about. Alas, the cat was too quick for her, and she only caught a mere glimpse of the spectacle that had served as my entertainment for the past five seconds.
The poor cat made a few more rounds through spaces too small for my pursuit, my insane cackling serving as a soundtrack for what must have seemed like hours of torture to her.
I don't care. That shit was hilarious.
Finally, I got up off my ass to try and corral her into a proper spot to where I could remove the bag. Unfortunately, she had crossed the threshold separating "panic" and "terror" and loped right on into "frenzied insanity" territory. She ran, leapt, juked, and jived in a pattern that would have impressed my girlfriend's godfather. I followed like a lamb to the slaughter, still chortling. She promptly freaked out and headed for the bedroom.
Shit.
So Bag-Cat hauled ass under the bed, with me in tow. I listened to the sound of the sack as she dashed from one spot to the other, and finally passed closely enough for me to snatch at the bag. My fingers worked like an eager prom date on a bra. That's to say "really awkwardly". I managed to grab hold of the corner of the bag and yank backwards. Between the cat's projectile-like kinetic energy and my desperate jerk backwards, the bag gave like wet toilet tissue, and Phoebe shot straight under the dresser, where she remained for about another ten minutes as I finished with my uncontrollable laughter. I finally reached under and fished her out, where she lay in my arms huffing and puffing, with eyes as wide as dinner plates.
I couldn't help but start laughing again.
I'm an asshole.
Posted by Jake at April 30, 2006 10:08 PM
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