The Catsis of Evil

Just when I was trying to take this blog into a more depersonalized, satirical direction and spare readers the banality of my life, in favour of topical and poignant hillarity - something so surreally bizarre happened to me today that it caused me to yell out: "THIS one is going in the blog!" I seriously yelled that. There are witnesses. I am actually that lame. Nevertheless, I will attempt to imbue this meaningless and yet uncanny event with some sort of message.

So after the jubilant return of my buddy Drew from his trip to Florida, we waited for classes to finish for the day so that we could go wild as only crazy law students know how to do. Yes. We went grocery shopping. The lovely Ms. O was along for the excitement. After winning several shopping cart races and protecting my Supermarket Hide and Seek title ("N-n-n-no-one ev-v-ver looks in the f-f-f-f-frozen f-f-f-ood s-s-section") I purchased the 5 kg bag of frozen fruit that I was hiding behind to feed my beloved blender (I will immortalize my affection for my blender in a future installment.). Yes just another blissful day in London.

But President Bush was right. The evil-doers will always wait until we are complasened and under-expecting before they strike. Poetically enough, my terrorist took the form of a black cat. I'm not superstitious. I dance under ladders. I open my umbrellas indoors and pretend I'm Gene Kelly. I take rides in Canadian military helicopters and submarines every Friday the 13th. A black cat has never been a particular problem for me. Until this one. I don't know it's name. Cats shouldn't even have names. Cats shouldn't be. Supervillains are always stroking cats. I heard Saddam Hussein had FOUR!


War on Terror? War on Drugs? War on Gay Marriage? Mr. President won't you wake up and see that the cats are the problem? Won't someone PLEASE think of the children?

I first noticed the hellspawn walking past the car and leering at me as I was unloading my abundant bags of fruit, milk, eggs and savory mackerels and sardines. "What the hell are you leering at? Who are you King Lear?" I put the beast out of mind and walked through its recent path, carrying my groceries to the door. While searching through numerous pockets for my keys, I looked down to see the wicked creature at my feet leering at me again.

"Shoo! Scram!" I cried, using the diplomatic terminology traditionally used to chase off unwanted animals and other illegitimate land claimants. Seemingly unfamiliar with the terms of negotiation I made a small show of force and the rogue fled before my boot. Curious at my loud outburst and unable to see evidence of any threat to justify my violence, my ally Drew approached to help me bring in some bags as he attempted to calm me. Fuming I assured him that the Wild Mammal of Disaster was merely hiding and was surely lurking nearby and posing a very real threat.

Another trip to the car. Another load of bags. Another appearance by my nemesis. I hissed loudly this time, chasing it down the street in terms it could understand. I returned to my home to horde away my abundance. Drew saw the incident this time but still thought I was over-reacting. "Just a hungry cat. You're carrying a lot of food." I was not going to feel guilty for my right to well-stocked pantries.

I grabbed my stuff so that we could head to the gym. When I opened the door I dropped my bag in horror as I witnessed the attack. The beast seemed to hover at eye level after scaling the two towers of mesh and iron at the bottom of my screen door. I've been attacked by animals before. I've teased the wrong dogs. I've been dive-bombed by well-fed seagulls. And those monkeys at the zoo are fucking William Tells for aim when they're tossing their turds at you. This was however the first time an animal invader had attacked me in my home. This aggression would not stand.

In a hasty and poorly thought out counter-attack, I launched forward to free my door from its oppressor. A bang on the window in front of its face would teach my enemy to fear me and never return. It did. I claimed victory immediately.

But my force was too excessive. I misunderestimated the strength of the window. My fist crashed through the glass. Shattering it. Making a mess of the entire region around my entrance. My fist was badly cut. It would take a lot of time and money to fix up the door I had destroyed. I had spilled my own blood to humble an adversary that in the end (as I reluctantly conceded) posed no real threat to me. After bandaging my battered hand, I retired to my room to reflect on my actions.

No! I was not wrong! This cat was the aggressor! I had to protect my home and my ideals of freedom from animals - even at the cost of my own blood. Let that hungry cat go find it's food somewhere else. I won't apologize for the abundance of my fridge. The thought made me hungry. I re-elected to eat a very hearty dinner - much more than I needed to sate my hunger. Ah that sweet super-sized taste of freedom .

God bless America. And Death to all Cats.


Don't I know it Natalie Dee? Don't I know it.