People think I’m mad, I know they do. But I’m not, honest, I swear on every pair of shoes I own.
My cat is trying to kill me.
It started when he was a kitten. I thought it’d calm down when I had him neutered but it changed him from ubiquitously murderous to a vengeance-seeking missile. Locked on me.
First time, I was on my knees cleaning the kitchen floor. He tipped up the knife block and casually paw-pushed each knife at me in ascending order. A paring blade lodged in my left butt cheek, whilst the chef’s knife stole the top of my pinkie. Thankfully, I’m as proactive with knife sharpening as I am litter box sanitisation, or I might have donated a limb.
Given the dog was next to me, I figured I was collateral damage. To be fair to the cat, the dog was a yapping nuisance. Before he vanished.
Second, I assumed was pure accident. He shot into the lounge like a heavily backcombed lion, charging through my legs. I splatted backward to the floorboards, hard, crushing and fracturing many useful vertebrae.
The third was when I concluded this was personal and premeditated. I was temporarily bedbound because of the whole broken back thing and Mister Fluffy trained himself how to turn off my ventilator when I was asleep. He did it six times in a month. Once, the machine automatically notified the emergency services. They didn’t believe me either. A nice lady informed me they’d be ignoring my calls for six months, until my ‘case’ gets reviewed.
Anyway, I’m inside my understairs cupboard. It’s the only door he can’t open. He claws at it and hisses semi-regularly, reminding me he’s still out there. Waiting. Plotting. It’s not so bad, I’ve got food for a month, a box of Chilean merlot and a bucket. But he’s very strong-willed, like the time I tried shifting him onto cheaper, dry food and he staged a hunger strike in the front window, paws pressed against the glass. The neighbours called animal rescue; they gave me a fine and put my name on some sort of list. Like I’d want another pet anyway.
Crap, that’s him. Oh hell, he’s pushed a photo of me under the door.
My face is all clawed up and chewed. Both eyeballs punctured. I think that’s, eugh the smell, he’s dunked it in his litter tray too.
Help……please…..anyone!!
