The Incredibly Moving Story Of A Man And His Cat.

Dearest readers, I have run out of stuff to talk about in my life, so I have now hired myself out as a ghost writer. Today I helped Fred, from Las Vegas put his story into words. Enjoy.


Today started off just like any other day, I woke up early to the cat using my face to sharpen his claws. Not feeling the need to get up right at that moment, I slung the cat, spinning, across the room, where he crumpled against the wall, temporarily stunned, buying myself several more minutes of sleep. (*Note to self, although undeniably soft; perhaps cat-nip not best material for "organic pillow stuffing".) After several more facial disfigurement/cat hurling episodes, (or the snooze button as I call it), I rolled out of bed, and tracked blood into the bathroom. Wearing copious amounts of gauze, I headed down towards the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Just as I stepped over the unconscious cat at the top of the stairs, he woke up and launched himself at my feet like some majestic tiger tackling a crippled yak, and not the neutered myopic lazy excuse for a cat that he is. His hunting prowess notwithstanding, we landed akimbo, at the bottom of the stairs in a knot of kitty, people, arms, legs, and tails, (well, tail.)

     I awoke sometime later that afternoon, (judging by the amount of messages on my cell phone;  "do you know what time it is?", "are you coming to work today?", "you no longer work here") and went into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of cold coffee. Seeing as how I didn't have a place of employment to head to, I went ahead and made it a sort of Irish Coffee. (A half Scottish, half Mexican, half Jamaican, half Irish coffee.) I poured a little of my concoction in the kitty dish on my way into the living room, and collapsed into the couch. I turned on the TV and then dug my phone out of the couch to call my boss and explain that I would be into work tomorrow and that I had been laying unresponsive at the bottom of the stairs all day. Again. (Damn cat) My boss didn't believe me, but agreed to give me another shot. Luckily, not just anyone can pick up dead animals on the side of the road, and my dad owns the company. The stupid TV was channel after channel of snow, but it stopped after the remote embedded itself in the screen.
    Seeing as how the TV wasn't working, I decided to go out and get some exercise. I gathered up the cat and told him we were going for a walk, to which he appreciatively responded with a flurry of claws and feral screams. With a minimal amount of blood loss, the use of welding gloves, a tazer and several more cups of "coffee", I managed to get the cat into his kitty harness, and headed out the door. The cat was thrilled to be out of the house and showed his excitement by spreading out his limbs as far as he could and giving the sidewalk a big pointy hug. I headed down the street towards the mail box at the end of the block, and gave the lead a gentle tug to encourage the cat to catch up, and as he sailed over my head, beautifully silhouetted against the setting sun, he lovingly coughed a hair ball on my head. I wiped the slimy ball of hair off my face as the cat landed on top of the dog of the next door neighbor, who let out a somewhat surprised howl and turned into a furry lightning bolt.
     The problem with the neighbors dog shooting off down the street, was that, firstly, the cat was attached to the dog, and secondly, I was attached to the cat, and lastly but not leastly, the neighbors dog was attached to the ever so lovely but nonetheless completely blind next door neighbor. I had been wanting to meet her for months, and now I was finally getting my opportunity, I just had to play it cool. I'm not sure what the proper etiquette is for asking somebody out on a date while being drug down the street by their guide dog, but I did manage to ask her, "what a good looking girl like you doing, being drug down a street like this?" And then I hit my head on a fire hydrant... More to come.