Here Kitty, Kitty!

I am not a cat fan. Sorry, I’m just not; however, this video is hysterical (these are NOT nice cats). I have owned cats before and I won’t say that I will never own another one. I’m just more of a dog person. I love dogs. Dogs are cool. You can take them for a ride and they will enjoy every single mile. They will swim in the pool with you. They will go camping with you. A cat? Not so. Back when I was married to weirdo husband number two, he had two cats. Persians, they were. He had them shaved so they looked like lions. Pizza delivery boys shrieked in horror and threw our pizzas at us. It was terribly embarrassing. They were not nice cats either. I have stories to tell.

The best one is “The CATastrophe.” I was preparing for work one morning and kept hearing something that sounded like water dripping, but only not. I think it only sounded like water because it was coming from the kitchen area. The dining area was an open area extending from the kitchen to the family room. I searched the area but could not find the origin of the noise. I continued getting ready for work. Back in the kitchen for a second cup of joe, I heard the noise again, but only louder, and not like water anymore, but like something grating against a wall.

Again, I searched for the origin. It was coming from the stereo. Somewhat relieved, I figured someone had probably left the stereo on and it was the culprit. Nope. The stereo was off. I stared this machine down and could not for the life of me figure out the sounds. The stereo system was part of the television system which was parked quite snuggly against the wall. I peered behind the stereo. What I found was beyond comical. It was beyond understanding how in the world it could have taken place. Apparently, one of the Persians had managed to get his head inside the handle part of a plastic shopping bag. I can only imagine that he took off running to free himself of the bag. I further imagine that he took a flying leap and landed in the tight squeeze behind the stereo. He was stuck to the wall behind the stereo with the plastic bag half way around him. The bag was slipping down the wall, but the cat was too fat to pass on down, so he was sliding ever so slowly as his fat squished while slightly inching down the wall.

His eyes were big and terrifyingly round and fully dilated. His pupils were one with his whole eye socket. I pushed the stereo away from the wall to free him. At that instant, he shot out from his confinement. The plastic bag handle was still around his neck and as he ran the bag inflated and acted as a little, mini parachute. This whole matter had freaked this cat out so badly that he was in search of bed to hide under. We usually took all measures possible to keep this cat from underneath a bed. Once under, he was not coming out. I took off after him as he was heading for my bedroom. He was twisting and turning, sometimes in mid-air and other times while rolling on the floor in a futile attempt to be free of the bag. The entire time he was running, he was wailing sounding almost like an ambulance.

Bounding through my bedroom door, he was about two feet from my bed when I performed the Flying Wallenda lunge. I managed to grab the bag and his tail. Not wanting to hurt him (calm down cat lovers – it was for his own good), I had to quickly release the tail, but held firmly onto the bag. He came to a sort of whiplash stop when the bag attempted to part ways. I pulled the bag. He hunkered down under the bed. We were having a battle of wits and I could not lose to a cat.

Just then the ex-husband entered the room to find me lunging for his cat with a plastic bag in my hands. “I know what this looks like,” I admitted.

“What are trying to do to my cat?” his tone was accusatory.

“I’m trying to save him and keep him from self-exile under the bed,” I explained.

“You are trying to kill my cat, aren’t you? You were going to suffocate him.”

“No. I swear. I was only trying to help him.”

The EX picked up his little “baby,” comforted him, and cooed about how he had just saved him from the wicked, evil stepmother.

Most of all, I considered being called stepmother to a cat the worst CATastrophe of all.


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