A Thought on Cats and their link to the spiritual world

Like horrible ninja’s, the cat will slowly crawl to you, usually lying on all fours. In its eyes there is nothing but indifferent rage and an insatiable thirst for murder. To the cat, we humans are nothing more than playthings, something to be tortured and discarded at a mere whim. Ancient Egypt was their greatest triumph, managing to enslave an entire nation and make them believe that the cat was a god, whilst really all it would do is rub its genitals across your nose and laugh to all its cunty cat friends.

Since I was a child and realised that my cat had given birth in my underwear draw, I have had an undying hatred for the sneaky bastards. The Chinese have the right idea. In eating them. As harsh as that sounds, nothing would give me more pleasure than seeing a cat receive its well deserved punishment by nourishing the humans they have spent millennia attempting to enslave.

It was with strange surprise then that, when waking up at 11 o’clock the other morning, I stumble downstairs for my “well done you didn’t die in your sleep” cigarette, and there is one of those fluffy hell beasts sitting on my chair in the house. MY FUCKING CHAIR!

“GIRLFRIEND!” I hollered (I’m not revealing her name on here). “WHY THE HELL IS THAT DOMESTICATED RAT DOING IN THE HOUSE? IN MY FUCKING CHAIR!”

(I should point out that Girlfriend is used to my insane grumpiness that usually occurs when I haven’t had a cigarette in more than 20 minutes).

There’s no note. No answer. Nothing. Fuck fuck FUCK!

I glare at the hell beast, a small kitten, young, and energetic, it’s eyes, which lesser people mistake for love, filled with disguised hatred towards me. Thinking that this is some cruel trick that Girlfriend has played on me, I placed it into the hall, shut the door behind it, and race back towards my desk, so I can continuously fuel my nicotine levels to an agreeable level.

Once that chore is done, I turn on the PC and wait for it to load so I can do nothing eventful with my day again, and contemplate how to get rid of that cat. No windows were open in the night, so the fucker couldn’t have crawled in. That means Girlfriend must have got the damn thing. Which isn’t fair, because she made me cut down from 40 cigarettes a day to twenty-five cigarettes, and still gets a cat despite my obvious hatred from those pathetic thing.

Fuming, I blindly checked my emails, seeing if anyone has bothered to speak to me today. Oh, great, there’s an e-mail from Girlfriend. Maybe it’ll explain why the hell I have one of these beasts in our apartment. This is what it said.

‘Hi Jake,

Went over to the shops, and a woman was giving away free kittens otherwise they would have been put down. It was so cute so I decided to get one just for us to make the place seem a little more full. In return I’m letting you smoke thirty cigarettes again.

Love, Girlfriend.
This was my response:

“I WILL ORDER PANDAS TO RAPE YOU, WOMAN! BEARS ARMED WITH FLAMETHROWERS WILL DESTROY YOUR FAMILY AND DO UNHOLY THINGS WITH THEIR ROASTED CARCASSES AND THEN HAVE A MAGNIFICENT FEAST!”

Of course, her response was:

“That’s nice. Have a nice day and make friends with the cat. That’s his name btw: Cat.”

I love my girlfriend, but one of these days I’m going to murder her. With love.

And that is how I’ve ended up with a cat named Cat. I still hope most days that I can somehow transmit anthrax into its eyes, but until that day, I am at its whim and mercy, dealing every day with the little bastard running up and down my leg. Girlfriend calls this “Aww, it’s showing it loves you.” I call it testing for weaknesses. The little cunt.