The cat, man’s greatest friend. Not best, like the lowly dog, but great. Consider yourself lucky if you have one of these feline friends, frolicking around your home.
As you can see, I love cats. In particular, I love mine. I even wrote a story about them: one detailing their struggle with herpes and the other of their night-time muffin-eating excursions. I know, I know—I seem to talk a lot about them. In fact, during my last four years of Salient reading, I haven’t come across one cat article. But I just can’t resist. Those cats do the darndest things. So, of course, I have to tell you all. (I promise, this is the last cat-related column you’ll ever read again. Well, at least from me.)
The Marmite.
So, I have a cat called Marmite: just like the spread, not because he tastes like it, but because he’s cool and packed with B12 and iron. He’s a lean cat, but compared to the neighbourhood felines, he’s rather skinny. Now, I’m not a firm believer in over-feeding pets, it’s just wrong (and if they are still hungry they can just sneak into other people’s houses and steal food). But there is this fat ginger cat who thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips (he’s probably eaten a few) and wanders in to take my cat’s biscuits. But because he’s bigger, Marmite can’t fend him off. So, what do I do? I do what any responsible owner does.
I scare the ginger fucker away, but at the same time, Marmite thinks it’s him. Confusing but simple. Keep reading.
Spy enemy cat.
Pick up Marmite, so that he is facing said cat.
Chase enemy feline, whilst holding Marmite, making sure to hiss like an angry cat.
I like to think that Marmite believes he is chasing the cat and that he thinks he is über-cool.
Marmite also likes to spray the house. It’s pretty disgusting. My friend once asked what’s the difference between spraying and pissing. Basically, spraying is a territorial act, and it literally looks like cat piss has been sprayed out of their ass. Whereas pissing leaves little puddles (Marmite’s only done that once when I accidentally locked him in a room).
One time, Marmite managed to spray my coat. Contrary to belief, I don’t go sniffing my clothes every morning. But when I got down in front of my computer, after a fifty-minute walk to town, I noticed a strange smell and knew what it was. Cat piss smells a lot like human urine. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t human, so that left Marmite. (For future reference, perfume doesn’t cover it up.) Well, that leaves the other cat.
The Boomerang.
Earlier this year, I told the tale of Boomerang. In short, she had contracted a feline STD, confining her to a lifetime of medication and some discriminating stares. But just when we thought we had heard the worse, she, like a real Boomerang, keeps coming back for more. First she had herpes. Then she had babies. My cat is really the best.
Yeah, so the day I take her to get fixed, the vet tells me she’s pregnant (I bet it was that fat ginger cat next door who couldn’t keep his paws off her). The vet also informed me that she could have anything between three to ten kittens. Heck, ten kittens! But luckily she only had two, which came out herpes-free. And they were real cute, except they kept shitting everywhere. I was tempted to keep them, have four cats and be the crazy cat lady, or whatever. But Boomer kept bringing in baby mice for them to eat and in the end, finding dead rodents every time I came home was enough to give them up, for a reasonable price of twenty dollars and a couple of pizzas.
So that’s it. No more cat columns or references from me. That’s a promise that won’t go Wong. You can now breathe a sigh of relief.
Ha! Just when you thought no more cats, I’ve gone and made the grammar quiz results cat-related. But after that, I swear, I’m all done.