UPDATED**If You’re Not Into Cats…
…then maybe just skip this post.
If you are owned by a cat, or room with a cat, or marvel at the mysteries of the cat, then settle down because it’s………..
Starring, none other than Bugsy, the Insane or as I’ve taken to calling him lately, Bugsy, the Inflatable because damned if he doesn’t look like someone shoved an air hose up his…nether region…and then turned it on and walked away.
He’s old, he’s diabetic, he’s lazy, and he’s fat.
I have him on a $28/bag diet food made for old, diabetic, fat, lazy cats.
The bag’s instructions stipulate that only *this* much is to be given to the cat daily.
*This* much roughly translates to thimbleful if you are Bugsy.
It’s actually closer to capful, if you are Bugsy’s roommate and slave…a/k/a me.
So, months go by and Bugsy dutifully bitches about the amount of food he’s given. He follows me around, after I’ve filled his bowl, often loudly protesting the lack of volume in the food bowl. Other times, he follows me around actively attempting to trip me with his paws by grabbing at my ankles.
If he ever develops opposable thumbs I fear for my life.
He hasn’t lost an ounce, and then one day I figured out why.
My bathroom rugs have developed a bald spot.
Granted, they are old but I didn’t think they’d lose their covering here…and here..oh, and here. Mostly on the edges.
I discovered the reason for the loss recently as I passed by the bathroom door and noticed the cat hunkered down over the corner of one of my rugs.
Bugsy is eating the bathroom rugs. He diligently and carefully works on one strand at a time, pulling it out and eating it.
Insanity, thy name is ‘Bugsy’.
I closed the bathroom door, after shooing him out amidst loud protestations. Since that day, no more rug damage and I have noticed a general increase in Bugsy’s grumpiness – if such a thing is possible.
It all came to a head Sunday when out of his morning food’s rations – roughly 30 seconds after I put it in the bowl – he came into the front room where I was sitting on the couch, reading, and proceeded to repeatedly place his front paws on the couch, leaving the back ones on the floor for leverage no doubt, and smack me on the legs, hands, arms, whatever he could reach.
He never used the claws, but he just kept coming back and coming back.
A pretty-good writer once said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but I submit it’s only because he hadn’t met my hungry cat yet.
And, since the Bard is well-dead, I’d like to revise that quote a little to read “Hell hath no fury like a pissed off cat named Bugsy”.
I’m sure Sir William would approve.
UPDATED – Dateline – 2 seconds ago….
From the Spam Comments, comes the comment of the day for this post:
“Fantastic beat !”
Thank you, lucille, for that spot-on commentary.
Back to you, Bob.