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Wednesday, January 8, 2014

CATS! NOT THE MUSICAL! CAN WE EVER REALLY BE FRIENDS WITH THE LITTLE DEVOURING JUNGLE-BEASTS?



         Now I have eight cats in my kitchen.
And to tell you the truth, I never much liked
cats...but I've learned to like them a bit.
         The fact that, if I were to die in these rooms,
these eight supposedly friendly little beasts
would have my bones picked clean before next
week - this does tend to influence
my already jaded judgment.
            Years ago, when I used to cleanse myself,
dress in clean clothes, give salutations to the sun
etc., etc...I would then take a massive dose of
LSD and sit quietly facing east
and wait for BLAST-OFF!
         I'd then run across the fields and hills of
snow, freezing temperatures... I'd run up
to the nearest snow fence and then I'd rip
an eight foot t-shaped steel post out of the frozen
ground and run to the top of the nearest hill,
where I remember letting out a howl of glee, 
and triumph and menace - in order to intimidate
all the wildlife in a radious of about eight miles.
I was spoiling for a fight. I was daring something
to attack me ... three or four wolves, perhaps, or
ten coyotes.
           The howl, I'm told was loud enough,
and just gleefully primevil enough, to have
neighbours five miles away calling the district
police...
     
     Ah, well, they weren't my neighbours.
I lived farther north.

         But to get to the point, I remember
returning to the farmhouse at the bottom of
the hill in the dark, with very little
ambient light... The same conditions I could see
clearly in hours before when I was beginning
my long circular hilltop trek of howls, the same
light now seemed almost impenetrable darkness
to me...
             So after a good workout, running and howling
over the snow for five miles and more, I returned
to the farmhouse of my hosts. I stepped inside
and about five cats were staring at me across
someone else's kitchen floor.
             Not a word was said. I stood there quietly
inside the kitchen door.  All I did was return the stare
of these luminiscent-eyed feline beasts, pretending to be
domesticated.
             Well, they weren't fooling me! I wanted to
kill, but I didn't move a muscle. I didn't
have to - just by my staring at them, the
cats started sprinting back and forth across
the living room... 
           I watched, growing more agitated by
the moment. I wanted to join the chase,
hunt them, pursue them and devour them.
          I didn't. Instead, the perfect house guest
at 3:00A.M., I shouted out like a drill instructor: 
        "Would someone come and take these cats before
I kill them all!"
          Several women ran down in their nightgowns
from the second floor, and nabbed their little
darling housepets and got them the hell out of the
way - of the 200 pound, six foot, well-co-ordinated
raving monster who was going to eat
the eyes of their sweet little furry friends.

        Ah, but that was twenty years ago, and it's
hard to find acceptable acid now-a-days. AND THE
LITTLE FUCKERS ARE IN MY KITCHEN NOW!
        I've fed the little bastards about ten
times  today already, refilled the water, removed
the huge clumps of catshit... 
       It's 8:00P.M. now and I'm just cooking my own breakfast...whereas these
little beasties have eaten about a pound and a half
of my meat already...
             And the mother still has the nerve...
             The mother of seven meat-eating 3rd week
kittens has the nerve to STARE at me EXPECTANTLY...
as if saying, "Well, what's wrong with you, fool? Do your
job!  Can't you see we're a little peckish..."
              I can see the staring eyes of that mother
cat right now, even though their room is in
darkness... expecting me... expecting me... expecting....
staring, wanting more, more, more...
              And I can't blame the mother much. Because
soon as I fill the large bowl with soft foot, seven kittens
are in the bowl...The mother watches patiently...
I can't believe her self-sacrifice and patience. I'm
not patient.... and I don't need any more
expectant eyes on me!

            OK, I finally had breakfast at 9:00P.M.
About cooking a pound of rare lean hamburger... And the
little pricks wanted that as well!


                                  (to be continued, you'd better believe it!)

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