|This face is reserved for me.|
This all started about three years ago, back when my sister decided that she needed a cat. Wait, my sister? Wasn't this about my mom's cat? Well, he started out as my sister's cat, but good luck trying to tell a cat who owns him. He loves my mom. He literally worships the ground she walks on. If she is knitting, he has to be there, helping by batting at the needles and playing with the yarn. If she is on the computer, he has to be there, laying across the keyboard. If she is gaming (oh yeah, my mom's a hardcore gamer, you better believe it) he is right there, in her lap so that she has to hold the controller at a crazy-ass angle. He hates when she leaves and stays curled up on her bed until she gets home. When she gets home he frantically mews to her, like he is telling her is whole day. He really is almost dog-like in his devotion to her.
But he is only a one-person cat; everybody else he ignores. If they pet him, he will tolerate this affection in a manner that allows them to see that he is really above all of their affection and that by allowing them to touch him, he is really doing them a massive favor. Except me: his archenemy. He does not tolerate me.
If I touch him, ha! Wait, no I don't get to touch him. He runs from me, hissing, if I get to close. When I do manage to pick him up, he moans. Yeah, moans. That is the weirdest sound I have ever heard, and this is why I keep picking him up, I can't help it. In return, he trips me up and swipes at me when he thinks he can do it without being caught.
And why am I calling him the devil's kin? Doesn't it sound like I am the one harassing the life out of that poor little kitty cat? Oh, folks, this is payback. See, back in the first few months of having him in the family, really before he had even attached himself to mom, he started this war. And now it's on, no mercy. (Don't freak, I am not interested in hurting him. I just like to annoy him.)
He loved to bat at feet when we first got him. He really was attached to my daughter first, but she hated getting her feet slapped with ten little needle-like claws (go figure), and soon he realized that she just could not love him. But me, he still got under my feet. And I have this habit of pacing. If I am happy, I pace, if I am agitated, I pace, up and down the hall, back and forth, the bane of my family, the hallway hogger: I am always in it. And during one of my pacing episodes, this cat got underneath my feet without me seeing him, and I fell. As I fell, my feet twisted funny because they were caught up in a big. black cat, and I heard the strangest, wet popping sound. I had never heard a sound like this. And then I felt it. Oh. My. God. My foot screamed with pain. As I tried to get up, I realized that I couldn't put weight on that foot. Oh, have you guessed yet? That's right, my foot was broken. The cat had broken my foot!!!
Oh, do you think that's all? Isn't that bad enough? Oh no, see, he got startled once while I was holding him as well. He didn't mean too, I admit that, but all his claws came out as he was trying to escape, and he gave my sister mocking rights for weeks to come. She laughed and told me that I looked like I was attacked by a baby tiger. Oh yeah, the clawing was that bad. I have scars. Not only that (there's more!!!), but I caught a strange bacteria from him, that you usually get from birds but can get from cats.I forget what the doctor called it, but this bacteria, according to the doctor, caused bubbles to form on my eardrums and my eyes to look like I had a major case of pink eye. And my ears and eyes hurt worse than the foot!
|His eyes are glowing with hatred.|