Why are we so attached to these teeny spitting balls of fur?
Some days I think I should have named my cat Edward (after the Scissor Hands variety, not the sparkly vampire dude, although the blood sucking sounds kind of appropriate)
Fubar has days when he has a mental melt down, usually when my co-worker is around, and he turns into a black eyed, zombied out, killing machine with no concept of the actual size differential between himself and that of his perceived prey.
My co-worker brings out the very worst in my cat and is unwilling or unable to heed my pleadings and warnings that it is not good for either the kitty or for my peace of mind if he uses his arm as tool to infuriate my already unstable feline H bomb.
My cat responds, predictably, by latching on to the aforesaid limb and trying to the best of his ability to tear out my co-workers entrails, via his wrist. He utilizes his best kick and slice maneuvers as well as his pin and choke tactics.
Of course being an nth of the body weight of my co-worker none of this has any great effect except to destroy the last vestiges of sanity that my cat had in his tenuous grasp.
From then on we are all fair game.
He will sit behind you while you work and then spring up without warning, bite you and run off behind the printer, hide around the doorway and execute flying leaps at your ankles as you pass by. Heaven help you if you try to pet him whist in this mood, you will come
away sans fingers if the gods are not smiling upon you.
Then he goes and naps
In a sun beam
And awakes with the disposition of an angel.
And wants to make love to your face, share kitty spit or snot or something equally wet and gross with you just knowing you will be delighted to have this formally feral creature shed hair on your lips, eyes and neck.
Better yet if you are lying down.
My cat: Ohhh you are laying down, let me walk on you with my tiny sharp feet.
Me: Hells bells cat, since when have you weighed more than a fire engine, just sit down.
My cat: Shall I sit here….no….over here…no…over here….no…over here….no
Me (bruises forming): Oh for gods sake, settle down somewhere before I die.
My cat: I will sit here, on your face
Me: Get out of my mouth!!!
My cat: I will lean sideways so you can breath, and so I can lick my own rectum, as you can smell I recently extruded a particularly satisfying bowel movement.
Me (dry retching): Get off! Get off!
My cat (staring at me with injured eyes from the floor): I just don’t know WHAT is wrong with you?
Yet I love him and he tolerates me as the bringer of his meals and the provider of warmth as needed.
Its nice to be owned by a cat, but don’t ask me why…