My Evil Kitty (or Faster Pussy Cat Kill Kill)

My cat is crazy.

But since I’m insane, it’s like we’re two peas in a pod (or two nuts in an apartment).

She scratches. She pounces. She bites. Then she has the nerve to rub up on my leg like it’s all good… “I’m still bleeding from the last time, damn.”

And she attacks without warning. Claws come out. Snikt – Slash like Wolverine. If she doesn’t like the way I’m petting her. Snikt – Slash. She’s saying,  “Look… I told you already, you bald-ass monkey fuck, I like long strokes from the neck to the tail and then short on the head then back to the body. If you do it wrong again, I’ll cut you again… Believe it. What was that?” Snikt – Slash.

If I’m walking past her and she does that thing where she gets in the way of my feet, but I walk around her, she jumps on the back of my leg and bites into my calf. Her way of saying “Hey, I’m being cute down here and you better recognize.” Snikt – Slash.

I chose her because she was the only adult cat at the shelter trying to pick the lock on her cage. I should have known she would be a handful. They called her Buster. Most likely because she was a brawler from day one. I call her Lucy after the beautiful and kick-ass action movie star Lucy Liu.

The day I brought her home, I had no idea that she was a devil spawn. I showed her the litter box, put some cat food and water in a dish and left her alone to explore her new home. I bought myself some Chinese food. Not really Chinese food but “Ghetto” Chinese food. You know, that greasy fried chicken that they dump in that fucking vat o’grease and deep fry until it’s all crispy and greasy. I love that shit. And after spending all day at the shelter and then the vet’s office, I wasn’t about to cook.

So I’m sitting on the couch. I got my chicken on the table and she’s on the floor just… staring at me. I’m giving her space. She just got there. So I’m not bothering her. She’s got her food, her litter box. I bought her a little jingle ball to play with. I’m just leaving her alone. “You got the run of the house, go explore or whatever. Stop staring at me… damn.” But she’s just eying me. Just sitting there staring up at me. So I think fuck it, I’ll just eat. But before I can even get the food in my mouth – Pounce! She jumps straight into the air and – Wham! – slams down right in the center of my fucking plate. Right on top of my fucking chicken. Like – “WHAT? What? This is mah food now bitch. What?” Scared me so bad, I swatted her and she flew across the room. I made that cat fly… I’m not proud. I’m firmly against cruelty to animals but she startled the shit out of me.

She was establishing dominance (I guess) but I ain’t no kitty’ s bitch. (okay maybe a little)

Our whole dynamic has been um… dysfunctional ever since. I mean she’s cute. She curls up in my lap and purrs and all that cat shit but she has a mean streak and really sharp-ass claws. She’s constantly sharpening those things getting ready for the showdown. Then she looks up at me while she’s doing it as if to say, “Yeah nigger, you know what time it is. What?” Snikt – Slash.

I would never have her claws removed or clipped or anything because, you know, at this point in our… little battle of the species I would consider that as cheating. Calling in a professional and taking away her weapons would not be cool.

Plus I think she’s a lot like me, in as much as she was probably abused in her childhood like I was. Sometimes it feels like she was raised by dogs; the way she likes to bite when she’s pissed. She also likes to play fetch and she actually brings it back (I’ve never had a cat that actually brought the toy back). And she has serious trust issues just like I do, so I’m not about to take away her claws.

In the meantime, if she wants to fight for dominance, we’ll fight for dominance. “I’m like ten times your size and I have thumbs. You got thumbs? Can you work a can-opener?”

“That’s what I thought. – Ya lower life form, you.”

However, what she does have is that rare combination of cute & scary; fluffy & dangerous, So she usually wins. I call her Sweetmeat when she’s being nice because…

“Lucy is a nice sweet meat.”

And then later she sits there watching me scoop out her litter box. Just sitting there staring at me and she’s probably thinking, “Remember when you made me get off the counter that one time? Well, what you’re picking up right now, that came out of my butt. so um… Who’s the lower life form now?”

Snikt – Slash.

I love my crazy-ass kitty (and hydrogen peroxide… I also love the hydrogen peroxide)

– Mel

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