A place for a cynical person to write his cynical petty little thoughts and musings.

Saturday, May 5, 2007

Fight To The Death- Or To The Kitchen

It's a beautiful day in the land of broken dreams, so I went out on my bike to pick up some toiletries. I only do such things on a beautiful day, which means I'm one stinky bastard come winter.

I got home and collapsed on the couch. A twenty-minute bike ride to the Shopper's Drugmart can really take it out of you. I heard noises upstairs of banging around and general scurrying. Our cat, Smudgie had moved into crazy time. Crazy time is when a cat's eyes go as big as saucers and for no understandable reason the cat charges around the house in a gallop with the odd howling meow. I looked at my watch. 1:00PM, crazy time was early. This primal type of behaviour doesn't usually happen until after dark. I didn't think much of it though.

I heard him coming down the stairs behind my head. Usually if he's coming down when I get home it means he's looking for a lap to curl up on. Craning my head to look up the stairs I noticed my white with butterscotch dotted cat looked abnormally gray. Upon closer inspection Smudge had gained a ringed tail and pointy nose. Slowly it all came together, it's not crazy time, Smudgie is indeed white with butterscotch dots, had a regular cat like nose and was in fact not a raccoon.

I jumped into action grabbing the raccoon’s mortal enemy, the broom. Or as I like to call it my broomstick-boomstick and raced upstairs. The broomstick-boomstick is also an enemy of bats, stray cats, children who steal pies that are cooling from my windowsill and dust bunnies. The broomstick-boomstick has no known predators itself. At the top of the stairs was my actual cat about three times his normal size, and shedding everywhere. Much like a blowfish the cat puffs up to scare intruders, then irritates their allergies. It works on both raccoons and in-laws. I grabbed Smudge who was as stiff as a board and threw his hissing hair shedding body into the study.

The raccoon had retreated into our bedroom, and was riffling through my underwear drawer, like the perverted abomination of nature he was. I cocked the broomstick-boomstick and let loose a stream of floor slams. He ducked and lost eye contact. It looked like he had gone under the bed. Great, if he finds my old Playboys under there, I’ll never get him out. Unless I get lucky and he’s one of those rare gay raccoons. It was my lucky day, he was. As I shoved the broomstick-boomstick under the bed he darted out behind the window curtain. I drew my blade and was about to strike when I remembered my training as a thespian, I couldn’t risk killing the King’s advisor, Polonius, so I yelled profanities until he came out.

Raccoons are all of the Christian Right and hate any profanities. So I started screaming about how abortions should be legal, the war is really about oil and evolution must be taught on our schools. It worked, the raccoon was so offended he darted down the stairs, through the kitchen and out on the balcony.

I followed; he was now hiding under my wife’s bike, presumably trying to cut the locks to make off with it. Two years ago someone ripped off her bike. Now I had a suspect. Using the broomstick-boomstick I frightened him to the edge of the balcony. We faced each other eye to eye, for a brief moment I had respect for my enemy. This creature who was raised in the alleys and the muck, so desperate to have what I did, a home, a family and a very puffy cat. I snapped out of it and yelled, “Don’t you ever come back here!” and poked at him until he fell onto the tree and scurried away. My family was safe. I was reunited with Smudgie and we celebrated our victory with a cold beer. Smudgie’s shaken, it’s gonna take some time for him to get over this. As I type he is still checking ever nook and cranny in the house. We may have to move from here and start over…

Blood thirsty fiend

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