When Good Cats go Bad

"Cats don’t belong to people. They belong to places."
- Wright Morris

I've put down my cup of tea. Averted my eyes from the television. Turned off my music so I can bring this frightening fact to your attention: that sweet ball of fur you call Snowball or Miss Tinkles is actually a vicious Agent of Death that is scheming to devour you the minute you turn your back.

God made cats cute to mask the true evil that lies within them. Unsuspecting, we live our days in blissful ignorance until...POUNCE!! They exact their style of feline justice on your ass for all the cutesy stuff you've done to them. I came to this horrifying conclusion when I started piecing together the traumatic events I've put my little guy Widget through, and realized my time is coming.

He's artfully calculating his next move, I know it. I've nibbled on his ears. I've dressed him up in a pink bow. I call him "Mr. Woo-Hoo Widgy Weasel Pants", and tauntingly refer to him as "Mr. Fuzzy Nuts" even though he's had them removed. I'd be pissed too.

Here's my case...


Exhibit A: even as kittens, cats know humans make tasty snacks. Look at him, sizing me up. Thinking, "He's only 5'11", I can take him. I think I'll start with the head first and chew my way down."

Exhibit B: the humiliating pink bow incident of '06. No amount of cat therapy can cure the effects of this one.

Exhibit C: worshipping at the green-eyed altar. Receiving backwards messages encrypted in the Devil's music, cleverly disguised as a Candian band's CD. Pure evil.

Exhibit D: now maybe it's just me but I don't think cats are supposed to make these faces. I've started making out my will, anyone want my David Hasselhoff record?

So if you ever find me half-devoured in my living room, look at that striped bundle of fur innocently rolling around on my floor. You'll know vengeance has been served.

I'm sleeping with one eye open tonight.