Reincarnated as a cat. I’m dead serious.
Picture this… Fish Hoek, 2010.
Our heroine is sipping sparkling wine on the couch whilst watching the latest episode of CSI: Las Vegas, an episode filled with drama, angst and particularly creepy music. She is alone (as is usually the case with these types of incidences) and blissfully unaware of her impending fate. Surprisingly there isn’t a storm raging outside.
She entices her somewhat erratic and notoriously neurotic cat onto her lap for a cuddle. Said neurotic cat, lets call him Gerald (names have been changed to protect the idiot) settles down in only the way a highly neurotic cat can, a mixture of half relaxed and half flee at the slightest provocation.
Our heroine feeling mellow and much love for the world around her reaches down to stroke her feline friend.
*gggggrrrrrwwww*
“Ok! You stupid moron I won’t stroke you” she mutters in dulcet tones whilst sipping slightly more nervously on her drink.
The tension is palpable…….. on CSI – the murderer is about to be revealed and the music grows increasingly more ominous.
Our heroine glances down at her lap and finds this.
His eyes are wild, his body begins to quiver… short shudders reverberate all down his spine. His claws extend and dig into her thighs. He sits up, staring maniacally at her and after a few tense moments where our heroine tries to calm him down by telling him how wonderful he is, he starts to arch his back. He appears to be growing before her eyes, expanding to twice his size, and not in the normal way of puffing up his fur. In a far more menacing – I’m about to leap at your throat – kind of way, and the look in his eye is murder!
In a dramatic bid to save herself from what she perceives as real danger our heroine pushes the wild eyed, crazy beyond a shadow of a doubt fiend off her lap. For the next ten minutes he continues to stare at her from the floor, eyes slightly cross-eyed leaving no doubt in her mind that he is biding his time and hatching another cunning plan to end her life.
I swear my cat hates me.
And lest you think I’m the one who should be called neurotic – this is not the first time Gymmie, erm Gerald has looked like he wants to attack me. For some reason it usually happens when we’re alone and he’s sitting on my lap. I attempt to stroke him – he growls, I leave him alone – something clicks inside his head (you can almost hear the click) and he starts to turn into a cat from hell.
I keep telling my dear, wonderful, thinks I’m paranoid and highly dramatic, husband that one day he’s going to come home to find me lying on the couch in tatters!
On a completely different note somehow I have managed to damage my Latissimus Dorsi Muscle – ‘cos I’m pretty sure when you sneeze or cough – your back shouldn’t feel like it is about to break in two.