Was the cat burglar on his 9th life…?

5 07 2011
They say that curiosity killed the cat… or perhaps, it was persistence. That’s why I’m feeling a bit like a cat on a hot tin roof, and have for the last week. There’s a dead cat on the line… and I hope that the idiom shouldn’t be taken literally.

[Aside: I’m not saying that to put the cat among the pigeons; let’s just see where this goes.]

I believe I’ve told you about the black and white cat that lives in our complex; that really thinks he’s the cat’s whiskers – as conceited as a barber’s cat, always looking like the cat who got the cream, the cat who got the canary, the self-ordained king of all cats, as far as he’s concerned… And why not? He’s sleek, he’s sassy, he’ll hiss and he’ll spit and he’ll claw (insert object or person) to pieces, then slink away silently as if he was never there.

Now this cat, Diesel (aptly named?) has a tendency to come into our apartment, saunter around, eat Smudgy’s food, and then leave. He even stole a pack of frozen bacon, once! Last Wednesday, while Smudgy was lying in her kitty bed, she suddenly sat bolt upright, eyeing the bedroom door with wide-awake eyes and a disturbed flick of her bushy tail. Ever cautious, we decided to see which way the cat jumps, and I slinked out of the bedroom to close the study door, ensuring that the intruder was unable to leave the apartment.

And there sat Diesel, eyeing me suspiciously from Smudgy’s food bowl. He had already snuck in once that same evening, thinking that we wouldn’t see him, and that was already enough to make my Significant Other mad enough to kick a cat. We put Smudgy’s food bowl on the refrigerator when she’s not eating so as to ensure that no other cat can get to her food, and it’s not like we can permanently keep the window shut since Smudgy wants to play outside and we need fresh air. Still, it won’t help complaining to our landlady, because there’s nothing she can do… besides, if I open my mouth, she might say nobody is allowed to have cats in the complex (and I know of 5 or 6 ‘illegal’ cats already).

Anyway, Diesel was all but grinning like a Cheshire cat before he spotted me, and he probably knew that my Significant Other was on his way. They’ve had their tails bushy and their claws out before, you see, as Diesel is a repeat offender. Said offender, who I don’t really see as a scaredy-cat, ran all over the apartment to get away from my Significant Other, finally going to sit on the kitchen windowsill behind the blinds, growling (can cats be said to growl?)

Smudgy was in the bedroom with me, since I closed the door to keep her from the fray, and seemed very agitated. Still, I wouldn’t want her to get into the fight. It was between my Significant Other and Diesel – it was time to stand up and give the cat a hiding (but not cause great harm or hurt him very much, because it would freak me out – animal cruelty is horrible) so he knows where he stands. Somehow my Significant Other managed to get the blind open without  being scratched, and hit the cat on the head with the top, hard plastic part of the broom he had retrieved to try and scoot the cat out of the windowsill. Apparently he hit the cat quite hard, and when he opened the door, Diesel shot out like his life depended on it…

… I sincerely hope it didn’t.

You see, this incident happened last Wednesday evening. It’s almost a full week later, and we have seen no sign of Diesel. I’m not taking about around our apartment – I mean anywhere in the complex. I don’t want to borrow trouble, and I know there’s a cat in hell’s chance that something as grave as I’m contemplating happened, but what if my Significant Other seriously damaged him? What if he was disoriented and a car run him over? What if he’s in hiding, not eating, and slowly but surely losing his life? What if he turns up dead, or stays missing forever…?

I know I’m simply overreacting, but as a cat lover, I feel sorry for Diesel. What he did was wrong, but I’d feel bad if any cat came to harm. So please hope with me that he’s not on the last of his nine lives and that we’ll see him by the end of the week. Otherwise I’ll feel guilty and have to mourn such a persistent offender…

My husband, the cat murderer – fact, or overly dramatized (all-in-my head) fiction? *dum dum duuuuuum* Perhaps he’s finally made good on all his threats…

[Note: Apologies for all the cat idioms/ sayings. I just couldn’t resist.]

I'd like to think that's he biding his time, waiting to take revenge...

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