I really love animals. I really do. I even love the creepy crawly ones that usually freak people out. I think snakes are cute. (Provided they aren’t skulking poisonously around my yard that is.) I will feed every stray I encounter. I don’t believe in buying dogs or cats from the pet store, only adopting them from shelters or taking in strays. And I don’t believe that we “own” dogs or cats (they are family members!), because I don’t think that you can “own” another living thing. So, I think I am officially qualified to be an animal lover.
So this is why I am so embarrassed about what happened yesterday.
D has 3 cats. A mama cat, Smitty, a baby cat, Peewee, and another baby cat, Termite. Now I just want to interject here that mama cat is at least 10 years old, and the “babies” are somewhere around 7 or 8 years old.
Well, the cats stay in the basement most of the time, but they are allowed to come upstairs if they want. However, since D likes to keep the house at sub-artic temperatures, they often prefer to stay in the nice cozy basement, which is pretty much right at room temperature year round. (And it is a nice basement, not just some dank hole.) D was watching some boring show yesterday, so I decided I would go pay the cats a visit. They were all curled up in a pile together, just generally being cute and snuggly. And as soon as I laid a hand on them, they all started purring like racecar engines. What could go wrong?
Well, Termite is an odd cat (with a weird ass name). He is pretty much bipolar cat. One minute he will be purring and being all cute and cuddly, but the next he might hiss and stalk away. So on to the embarassing part. I had been petting Termite when I stupidly stopped to pet Smitty. Apparently this was unacceptable behavior on my part because I was rewarded with a slash to the hand. Anyone who has ever been scratched by a cat knows that this hurts like a bitch, which explains my following actions. “Ouch! Fucker!” Yes, I called the cat a fucker. Loudly. Then I clapped my hands at him and said “BAD BAD CAT!” He then hissed at me and raised up all the fur on his back, which I think in cat means “OH YEAH? WELL FUCK YOU.” I stomped upstairs.
D: “What are you doing? What was all that noise?”
Me: “Termite scratched me. Little fucker.”
D: “He was probably just playing. Come on, I’ll put some peroxide on it.”
Now, I know that there are worse things I could have done, but I feel really stupid for swearing and yelling at a cat. Mostly because the cat now runs and hides hissing under a table whenever I come near.
Which makes me feel like I am the wicked witch of catville.