Cat’s are evil creatures. And that’s not to say that I don’t like them, I find them very endearing and highly entertaining. For the first 19 years of my life I was a devout dog person with no inclination to touch a cat and certainly wouldn’t own one if someone paid me to. So how did I end up with a small, furry, spawn of satan?
I moved to Vancouver when I was 19 and rented a studio apartment (which is a fancy way of saying you eat, sleep, watch TV and make food in one room and poop in another). As this was my first time living alone and the building didn’t allow any animals other than cats I was convinced by my then girlfriend to adopt one. Reason being to keep me company, so that there was someone to come home to at the end of the day, etc.
I was about to go to film school, I was moving out on my own, it seemed like a crazy thing to do so we went to the local SPCA. Several red flags should have triggered that I was about to adopt an evil cat:
1) While looking through the cages filled with adorable felines all cuddled together in two’s and three’s there was one kitten all alone.
2) While all the others were cuddling and sleeping this one singular kitten was busy shredding the newspaper in his cage and attacking random bits of nothing.
3) Thinking that all the other kittens were boring I decided I wanted the adventurous one that was tearing up his paper. I figured we could play together. In response my girlfriend who was much more feline educated said “You definitely don’t want THAT cat.”
4) As we carried said cat to the front desk and began filling out the paperwork the nice lady asked if I’d thought of any names. When I told her 'no' she suggested that we call him ‘Lucifer’.
5) Five minutes into the journey back to my apartment the kitten threw up all over the back seat in the same style displayed in the movie ‘The Exorcist’.
For the next three months the kitten didn’t let me sleep. He would sit at the end of my bed waiting for my feet to move so that he could attack them with the ferocity of a rabid dingo. At around 3am he’d get tired and slowly edge my head off the pillow so that every morning I’d wake up halfway off the bed.
He lacked the ability to judge distances so when jumping from one object to another he often missed. He ran into walls to such an extent that he ended up knocking his two front fangs out. At 2am when this happened the lovely lady on the other end of the 24 hour Veterinary Hotline told me I was very lucky to see them as usually they just fall out and the cat swallows them.
He’d constantly hide around random corners and wait for me to walk by before leaping and sinking his talons into my leg and hanging on for dear life. He’d attack anyone I brought to my apartment with no regard for the amount of bloodshed he would induce.
Though the reason why escapes me today we ended up calling him Mr. Bojangles and for five years he remained my constant companion. Those first three months were only the beginning…
I moved to Vancouver when I was 19 and rented a studio apartment (which is a fancy way of saying you eat, sleep, watch TV and make food in one room and poop in another). As this was my first time living alone and the building didn’t allow any animals other than cats I was convinced by my then girlfriend to adopt one. Reason being to keep me company, so that there was someone to come home to at the end of the day, etc.
I was about to go to film school, I was moving out on my own, it seemed like a crazy thing to do so we went to the local SPCA. Several red flags should have triggered that I was about to adopt an evil cat:
1) While looking through the cages filled with adorable felines all cuddled together in two’s and three’s there was one kitten all alone.
2) While all the others were cuddling and sleeping this one singular kitten was busy shredding the newspaper in his cage and attacking random bits of nothing.
3) Thinking that all the other kittens were boring I decided I wanted the adventurous one that was tearing up his paper. I figured we could play together. In response my girlfriend who was much more feline educated said “You definitely don’t want THAT cat.”
4) As we carried said cat to the front desk and began filling out the paperwork the nice lady asked if I’d thought of any names. When I told her 'no' she suggested that we call him ‘Lucifer’.
5) Five minutes into the journey back to my apartment the kitten threw up all over the back seat in the same style displayed in the movie ‘The Exorcist’.
For the next three months the kitten didn’t let me sleep. He would sit at the end of my bed waiting for my feet to move so that he could attack them with the ferocity of a rabid dingo. At around 3am he’d get tired and slowly edge my head off the pillow so that every morning I’d wake up halfway off the bed.
He lacked the ability to judge distances so when jumping from one object to another he often missed. He ran into walls to such an extent that he ended up knocking his two front fangs out. At 2am when this happened the lovely lady on the other end of the 24 hour Veterinary Hotline told me I was very lucky to see them as usually they just fall out and the cat swallows them.
He’d constantly hide around random corners and wait for me to walk by before leaping and sinking his talons into my leg and hanging on for dear life. He’d attack anyone I brought to my apartment with no regard for the amount of bloodshed he would induce.
Though the reason why escapes me today we ended up calling him Mr. Bojangles and for five years he remained my constant companion. Those first three months were only the beginning…
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