Saturday, December 08, 2012


Just sittin' and chillin' on a Saturday night, Meegie in the La-Z-Boy, me on the couch, a Madden game paused on the big-screen TV, Naomi preparing to go out, Ollie itching and shaking his head (he's got a stubborn fluid-buildup in his ear; I'm trying home-care, trying to avoid racking up a bill at the vet's)...and Cee-Pee (I call him Cee-Pee; his given name by Meagan is Cutie-Pie) was at the left side of the La-Z-Boy, just doing what cats do: observing the action and living in their own world.

Meagan said something to Oliver as he waddled across the living room, something like, "Poor Piggy [her moniker for Oliver], shaking that fluid in his ear...." and then Cee-Pee went into attack mode, hissing and swatting and clawing at Meagan's left arm.  He buried his claws in her arm and she started to wail and pull away.  It was like he was brawling with another animal, vocal as hell with arms flailing like a cartoon cat-fight.  Meegie pulled away and looked around the room with wide shocked eyes.  "What the hell was tha--?" and then Cee-Pee was on her again, almost climbing into the chair to claw at her.  Naomi's eyes were wide as saucers and Meagan's were clenched in pain.  "Oooooowwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh-ooooooooooowwwwwwwaaaaaahhhhhh," she said, and Cee-Pee darted around to the other side of the chair, the side near the wall.  He lit into her again, this time clawing at her right side and burying his claws in her upper arm.  I arose from the couch, my X-Box controller grasped loosely in my right hand and, in slow-motion, intoned: "Noooooooo, Ceeeeeeeee-Peeeeeeee....  Whhhhhaaaaa tthhhhe fuuuuccccccckkkk?"  And then I lobbed the controller at him, not hard enough to inflict damage on the old deranged pussy, but to knock him off of his attempted matricide.  I pointed at the door.  "Get the fuck out, Cee-Pee," I said, and through the door he sauntered, like he had not a care in the world.

Meagan was shocked, as were we all.  (Except maybe for Oliver; unfortunately, he's seen that side of Cee-Pee before.)  After she got some Neosporin and some hydrogen peroxide on the wounds, she was perusing the Internet, looking for some information on what might make a cat go berzerk like that.  Jealousy, wanting food, territorial squabbles, anger at "owner"...who knows?  He was to be banished for at least the night but, as cats are wont to do, when the front door was momentarily opened a bit later, the gray streaked past the leg and into the house, whereupon he scaled the cat/dog fence in the hallway and escaped into the jungle that is Naomi's room, where he could reasonably be expected to be lost for days.  "Yeah, stay in there, Cutie-Pie," Meagan called after him.  "You stay away."

Cats...who needs 'em?  My joking reference to putting them in burlap bags and dropping them off an overpass onto I-75...remains a joke, of course, but this is what I don't like about cats.  They're always in their own little world, we humans just seem--to me, at least--to be nothing more than an inconvenient food-giver to them.  It seems, often, that cats could just not be bothered with us.  They rule the roost, they seem to say with their cocksure strut.  I know, I know, this is written from the point of view of a dog-person, but this Cee-Pee Explosion didn't help the Cause of the Cats in any way.

Maybe the kid is losing his mind.  He is, after all, thirteen-years-old now.  Or maybe he's just a prick with temper-control issues.  Either way, it was surreal and he better not do it again.