Scout the Cat’s I Am the Pussy, Chapter 3

May 12, 2015

My human, Gen-ah, spends a lot of free time cutting greens from his garden, when he should be attending to me. This morning he cut and cut and brought in a big bowl stuffed with spinach and kale and lettuces. He soaked the greens and washed them.

And left the bowl on the counter.

Then he sat in my wing chair and looked in a book, not at me. So I sneaked into the kitchen and ate one third of the green stuff. It was crisp and good and smelled of wild animals. And then I crawled under Gen-ah’s bed, the darkest part where he can’t reach me.

I woke up to my ape yelling, “What the . . . Scot-eh? Did you eat my salad, Scot-eh?”

I could hear him going to all my hiding places, the bathtub, under the sofa, the lamp table. He bumped his head on the lamp table—he always does, and cursed. Cursed! He was cussing at me! He called me a bitch! Well, I am a bitch.

Gen-ah walked on his toes to the bedroom, thinking I couldn’t hear him, when I can hear an ant run across the floor—tastes like chicken. He knelt down and stared. I knew he couldn’t see me; my gray fur and the shadows made me invisible.

But then Gen-ah lifted the comforter onto the mattress, leaving light all around me, and I pretended to sleep. He stuck a hand under the mattress and slid it to my scruff, so I bit his fingers and he yelped.

Gen-ah had to drive somewhere, so he put away the salad bowl and went to someplace called Al Town. I had nice dreams about mice and bunnies—the damn bunnies eat grass right below my window. Note to self: Need some fishing line and a carrot on a hook, to dangle out the window..

The car came back. I ran to the living room carpet and lay on my back—Gen-ah loves this—and waited. He came in and he smelled funny. And he pulled some more greens from his shirt pocket, and they smelled better than tuna fish, and I pounced on them and ate them and got high as a kite.

Gen-ah laughed and got my back scratcher and rubbed my tummy until I about lost my mind. He thought this was cute, when in fact I was seeing visions of muscular, feral male cats singing songs of love to me.

The new greens from Gen-ah’s shirt pocket (does he grow them there?) will now have to be supplied to me on demand. They are called “cat-bite.”

Gen-ah whispered, “I forgive you, Scot-eh, I forgive you,” and I batted his nose, claws retracted. Of course he forgave me. I am queen of all I survey. And then that damn pet dog of mine showed up from next door, hoping to smell my butt..

The salad was forgotten.

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