Cat Fight!

 

    It's raining here.  And, it's an annoying little pissant of a rain.  It's the kind of rain that when it touches you, you tend to cringe at the demoralizing coldness of it all.  In fact, it bothers me that it has the audacity to even touch the roof. 

 

    Die, you pointless, little drizzle.  Die!

 

    Dog-Cat came in this morning after a night spent carousing along the beach.  I have no idea what he does down there, and it's probably best I never know.  But, he strolled in soaking wet and covered in sand and promptly did the dishes much to the panic of Deaf-Cat, who nosed around the sloppy, slurping, purring bundle of wet Dog-Cat before spinning herself into a mess and passing out on the floor in front of the dishwasher. 

 

    I made coffee and wobbled my way into the bathroom to grab a towel so as to begin the rainy-day ritual of attempting to dry Dog-Cat before he soaks the furniture. 

 

    While he was preoccupied by the vast buffet of cat food before him, I threw the towel over the wet beast and he growled a bit as he continued his mission of emptying the bowls before him.  I swear, the house could be engulfed in flames, we could be running for our lives, the refrigerator could be exploding bottles of mustard and cartons of Chinese take-out into the kitchen, and that damn cat would still stop and devour the most meager crumb before fleeing. 

 

    Anyway, I bend down to get my hands on him, and this is followed by the harsh scratching sound of kitty claws trying to find purchase on the linoleum of the kitchen floor.  Several scratches later, he slips from the towel and my hands, and I hear a sort of "burriiiip" sound from beneath the dining room table as if to ask "what the hell are you doing?  I'm trying to freakin' eat and you're throwing all sorts of crap on me."

 

    Somewhere on the third or forth lap of chasing him around the underside of the dining room table, his bi-polar little mind does a bizarre series of mental gymnastics, and he's gone from the thoughts of "I must eat" to "I must play."

 

    Now, at this point, if any of you question the veracity of Newton's Third Law of Motion, the following is a great example of proof:

 

    I should have seen it coming.  I should have carperted the dining room floor rather than go with the appeal of a hardwood floor.  I should have worn a helmet.

 

    As I was catching up to Dog-Cat, he perched on the edge of one of the oak chairs beneath the table, and as I made a play to apprehend him, he lept.  He lept far.  And, the result of his leep sent the chair he was perched upon screaming across the floor where it probably would have smashed against the wall had it not been abuptly halted by my face. 

 

    Dazed and crawling across the floor with a towel in my hand, I followed Dog-Cat into the living room to find him washing a muddy paw in the center of the room.  I moved slowly toward him so as not to startle him.  My head was starting to clear from the trauma when he suddenly caught sight of my approach and stopped licking his paw, and glared at me.

 

    I'm going to die, I thought.  I'm going to die in my pajamas on my living room floor clutching a towel while my cat sleeps happily on the soon-to-be-damp recliner.    

 

    I'm not sure what set him off.  Perhaps I blinked.  However, as I lay there peering into the wild eyes of my cat, he flattened himself upon the floor and dug his claws into the pseudo-Persian rug.  I knew he was preparing to leap, and I clutched my towel, his claws dug in, and we stared at one another with a gaze vacant of all emotion as we sized each other up.

 

    From the kitchen, I heard Deaf-Cat snore, and had there been villagers witnessing this showdown, I'm certain they'd have hidden themselves behind the safety of the closed and latched shutters of their homes. 

 

    I considered my move: fake right, dive left, and throw towel up to catch Dog-Cat in mid-air while praying that I'm quick enough to wrap him up before he comes down in a flurry of fangs and claws.  

 

    I executed this play flawlessly, and everything went perfectly until I lost my grasp on the towel, and rolled over to see Dog-Cat standing proudly upon the only weapon I had.

 

    Holy crap!  I thought as I looked at him.  I am so screwed --so hopelessly, utterly screwed!  I must stand up!  I... must... find... the... treats!  

 

    I'm not sure what happened, but my soaking wet opponent looked away ever so briefly, and I took advantage of his easily fractured kitty attention span, and I dove, much to his surprise, at HIM.  HA!  

 

    With my left hand on his back, I pushed him to the floor and rolled him away from me.  Then, with the right hand, I clutched the edge of the towel and wrapped him up into a tangled bundle of kicking, clawing, purring, gnawing cat, and rubbed him reasonably dry. 

 

    I won!  Kinda... 

 

   After a short morning nap of about an hour, Dog-Cat was throwing himself at the door, begging to be released back out into the pouring rain.            

 

-DP