The curious incident of the cat in the night time.
In fairness he moved in before I did, although I agreed my tenancy with the landlord, whereas he just decided that the people there would feed him and rub his belly when he wanted, so there he would stay. The furry bastard seemingly didn't resent my presence in the house, but he still decided that he'd terrorise me, and clearly knew there was nothing I could do about it as he was loved by everyone else.

You know how these cats are, though: once they get their claws in the sofa they think they own the place. They think they can come and go as they please, and this one seemed to think that sitting on my window sill and repeatedly clawing the glass, at 3 in the cocking morning, would result in me happily flinging the window open and beckoning him in with a cheery hello. He certainly seemed not to expect the shouty angry face and the flailing arms that threatened (but never actually could) to shove him toward the bone shattering stretch of concrete below.

Then the protests started. I can't imagine what he was protesting about, but he had something to say, and he did it in the dirtiest possible manner. The first incident came early on in a relationship with a young lady I was quite keen on. She woke me up one warm, still, summer morning, and suggested quite politely that there was an unpleasant aroma wafting about the place. My gagging, sweary retort didn't put her off as it might, but she didn't seem impressed as I chased the cat out of the house with murderous intent. There really was no need for him to use the spare bed as a toilet, though.

The second wave of his assault came when a friend was staying. We'd spent the evening imbibing liberal quantities of intoxicating liquor and I vaguely remember slumping face first and fully-clothed onto my bed. I awoke with a monster jumping about inside my head and dragged my weary carcass downstairs for water and possibly some food, if my stomach would accept it. It may well have done, had it not been for the special present the cat had left on top of the recycling box. It must have festered for some hours, slowly filling the kitchen with a noxious odour that rested too long on the taste buds and encouraged the stomach to empty its contents via the unwilling face hole.

The final act occurred after I moved out. My flatmate, who, incidentally had missed the first two parts, was disturbed from a merry slumber by the most unexpected noise. It sounded not unlike a baby spitting food out from between half closed lips. But it was more than that; in accompaniment to the dribbly noise was a squirty, splatty sound, similar to spraying semolina through desk fan. The smell met his nostrils before he had a chance to open his eyes to the sight of a crouching cat passing the loosest of stool water onto the pillow next to his head. I'm led to believe that much shouting took place, and none of it came from the cat.

There's no knowing exactly why he was protesting, but he clearly thought he'd made his point as the inappropriate pooing stopped as suddenly as it started, and he reverted to obeying the basic conventions of communal living.
( Moey, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 14:06, 4 replies)

Click
for 'stool water'

an olive made its own celebration, as it was partially ejected from my piehole
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 14:25, closed)

Proper office-based laughing there.
Well written, and funny as Hell.
*clicks*
( Cawl, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 14:36, closed)

Now that's a great
post! Thanks for the read! Loved it!
( SpankyHanky, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 15:17, closed)

the shoving toward the bone shattering concrete bit
would probably have happened were it me in this situation. cats have accidents sometimes too, right.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 16:47, closed)