Bad Cat

Dave was talking to his fluffy grey cat, Misty. She was laying on the back of the couch, intently staring at him with her green eyes.

“Now you listen to me. You’re a BAD cat. No doubt about it! I can’t keep anything on the dresser, table, even the shelves. You sit there and methodically knock things off and watch them crash to the floor. You’ve broken vases, cups, glasses, knick-knacks, my $ 60 dollar razor, bifocals, and my shock-proof watch. You were able to get into my medicine cabinet and swipe all my pills into a sink full of water. I don’t know what the hell I’m taking any more.”

Misty put out a consoling paw, touched his arm, and purred.

“You shred the drapes, scratch the table legs. You ignore your scratching post and use the back of the couch. I know you love me, because you leave dead mice in my bed. But you shit in my shoes. Do you understand what a shock that is when you’re
ready to go to work? I have to throw the pair out. The GoodWill won’t take them and my sox are never the same. You pee on the carpet and I have to have the carpet cleaners come in once a month. They just laugh and charge me $150.00. I’d buy a big tom cat, to show you what’s what, but I think you would love it.”

The cat was looking out the window.

“I can’t keep a girlfriend. You scratch and bite them. They change their numbers and never call back. The last was the worst. We were naked on the couch, getting it on. You got jealous and leaped on her, slashing her leg and breasts. Blood everywhere. I had to rush her to the emergency room. Do you know how much an emergency room costs? The surgeon had to stitch her up. Can you imagine how a woman feels, having a doctor stitching up her breasts? Not good, I tell you.”

She blinked her green eyes at him.

“Then there was the lawsuit with embarrassing questions. “What were you doing.” “How long were you doing it?” “What positions were you using?” “What did you say?” “What did she say?” “How many times?” “Why on the couch and not behind a closed bedroom door?” “Has your cat ever done anything like this before?” “What do you mean, when you say that it’s run away and you can’t find it?” “Are you a slasher rapist, trying to blame an innocent cat?” Dave groaned at the memory.

“The medical expenses were high enough, but the ‘Pain and Suffering, Emotional Shock, and Loss of Self Respect,” was a killer. You’re a BAD cat. Are you listening to me?”

Misty yawned, scratched the couch, and fell asleep.

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