A Tale of Terror! or Who you callin' a pussy?
This may sound like a funny story, but it is absolutely not! OK. Maybe it's a little funny, but it was definitely not funny as it was unfolding. Well, maybe even in it's atomic phase it was laugable, but I was still upset! So don't laugh, dammit.
It happened this way...
I was minding my own business, tucked quietly in the tiny windowless office of my parents' house, preparing lesson plans. Fain was soundly napping behind closed doors in his own little nursery. I was preparing a lesson plan on literary representations of the various relationships between humanity and the divine - Noah and Yahweh, Utnapishtim and Enlil, etc. I remembered a beautiful copy of the Egyptian Book of Going Forth by Day, or Book of the Dead, with exact replicas of the hieroglyphs on each corresponding page of translations that I had packed into a cardboard box in the attic. Since I had already decided that African spiritual texts were under-represented in the textbook that I had been given by the assistant principal, I thought that this illustrated text would make an interesting supplement. So I decided to unearth it.
(If you read hints of Indian Jones here, it might not be accidental.)
I made my way from the snug office and began to ascend the staircase that leads to the attic door. After three steps upward, I noticed my mother's timid and good-natured cat "Willie" lying on the top step. She raised her head and slit her eyes at me, growling audibly.
"Sorry, Willie," I said, not wanting to alarm her, "I'll come back later."
I began to back down the stairs, straining my hamstring as I stepped over the baby guard. Willie, usually mild and shy, stalked down the stairs after me, her growl growing more and more ferocious, her hackles raised, her teeth bared and gleaming with drool and a dream of human blood. I was puzzled and growing uneasy.
I continued to back into the kitchen, until I was pressed to the sink, my hand reaching back for the water squirter. She continued to stalk towards me, roaring in an unearthly housecat replica of an Asiatic lion on a death patrol. I pointed the squirter at her, my hand trembling, my mind reeling at this sudden change of temperament. I assumed she had gone mad and that now she would not rest atop the stair again until she had drunk the last of my blood and dined savagely on my innards.
I flipped the handle of the faucet, and water began to rush into the sink. I didn't pull the trigger of the squirter because I didn't want to scare her or cause her harm or anger. Instead, as she inched away from me to crouch behind the counter, I tossed treats at her, hoping to undo any diplomatic damage that might have been done, innocently, by me.
She didn't make a move towards the treats. She stared intently at me, waiting for me to move into her line of attack.
There was only one way to go...forward...possibly into the tiny jaws of death!
I eased forward, and we locked gazes. Her keening was intense and thirsty for gore. She moved towards me, and I continued to back rapidly out of the kitchen, never taking my eyes from her demonic face. I made it through the living room and she bounded towards me! She leapt across the room onto the crimson chaise lounge, pouncing to the uppermost point so that she was even with my face. She leapt at me and I scurried, like a 115 pound field mouse into the sanctuary of the office.
Even with the door closed and the computer tower humming, I could hear her menacing howls beyond the door. I peeked through a narrow opening and saw her pacing back and forth.
I had never witnessed anything like this. A mild pussy gone mad with bloodlust.
I didn't know what to do. Even after ten minutes, she would growl and lunge when I attempted to open the door, and otherwise she lay just in front of it.
I had no phone, no communication with the outside world, and, even if I did, who would ever believe that I had been treed by a damnable housecat?!
Finally, as the temperature in the office began to soar and my throat became parched and dry, I sent a instant message to Jack, my hero, in New Orleans, begging him to call one of my parents in North Carolina to apprise them of the situation. Laughing, I am sure, at the unlikeliness of the state of affairs, he proved himself a worthy friend and hero and saved the day by contacting my mother, who in turn contacted my father, who came and scared that wicked pussy cat under a chair.
I stumbled, hoarse and trembling from the office, fell lifelessly into my father's arms, perspiration dampening my forehead. When I had recovered, I found a watergun and vowed never to part with it again when searching for lost Egytian texts.
The end.
It happened this way...
I was minding my own business, tucked quietly in the tiny windowless office of my parents' house, preparing lesson plans. Fain was soundly napping behind closed doors in his own little nursery. I was preparing a lesson plan on literary representations of the various relationships between humanity and the divine - Noah and Yahweh, Utnapishtim and Enlil, etc. I remembered a beautiful copy of the Egyptian Book of Going Forth by Day, or Book of the Dead, with exact replicas of the hieroglyphs on each corresponding page of translations that I had packed into a cardboard box in the attic. Since I had already decided that African spiritual texts were under-represented in the textbook that I had been given by the assistant principal, I thought that this illustrated text would make an interesting supplement. So I decided to unearth it.
(If you read hints of Indian Jones here, it might not be accidental.)
I made my way from the snug office and began to ascend the staircase that leads to the attic door. After three steps upward, I noticed my mother's timid and good-natured cat "Willie" lying on the top step. She raised her head and slit her eyes at me, growling audibly.
"Sorry, Willie," I said, not wanting to alarm her, "I'll come back later."
I began to back down the stairs, straining my hamstring as I stepped over the baby guard. Willie, usually mild and shy, stalked down the stairs after me, her growl growing more and more ferocious, her hackles raised, her teeth bared and gleaming with drool and a dream of human blood. I was puzzled and growing uneasy.
I continued to back into the kitchen, until I was pressed to the sink, my hand reaching back for the water squirter. She continued to stalk towards me, roaring in an unearthly housecat replica of an Asiatic lion on a death patrol. I pointed the squirter at her, my hand trembling, my mind reeling at this sudden change of temperament. I assumed she had gone mad and that now she would not rest atop the stair again until she had drunk the last of my blood and dined savagely on my innards.
I flipped the handle of the faucet, and water began to rush into the sink. I didn't pull the trigger of the squirter because I didn't want to scare her or cause her harm or anger. Instead, as she inched away from me to crouch behind the counter, I tossed treats at her, hoping to undo any diplomatic damage that might have been done, innocently, by me.
She didn't make a move towards the treats. She stared intently at me, waiting for me to move into her line of attack.
There was only one way to go...forward...possibly into the tiny jaws of death!
I eased forward, and we locked gazes. Her keening was intense and thirsty for gore. She moved towards me, and I continued to back rapidly out of the kitchen, never taking my eyes from her demonic face. I made it through the living room and she bounded towards me! She leapt across the room onto the crimson chaise lounge, pouncing to the uppermost point so that she was even with my face. She leapt at me and I scurried, like a 115 pound field mouse into the sanctuary of the office.
Even with the door closed and the computer tower humming, I could hear her menacing howls beyond the door. I peeked through a narrow opening and saw her pacing back and forth.
I had never witnessed anything like this. A mild pussy gone mad with bloodlust.
I didn't know what to do. Even after ten minutes, she would growl and lunge when I attempted to open the door, and otherwise she lay just in front of it.
I had no phone, no communication with the outside world, and, even if I did, who would ever believe that I had been treed by a damnable housecat?!
Finally, as the temperature in the office began to soar and my throat became parched and dry, I sent a instant message to Jack, my hero, in New Orleans, begging him to call one of my parents in North Carolina to apprise them of the situation. Laughing, I am sure, at the unlikeliness of the state of affairs, he proved himself a worthy friend and hero and saved the day by contacting my mother, who in turn contacted my father, who came and scared that wicked pussy cat under a chair.
I stumbled, hoarse and trembling from the office, fell lifelessly into my father's arms, perspiration dampening my forehead. When I had recovered, I found a watergun and vowed never to part with it again when searching for lost Egytian texts.
The end.
posted by Autumn at 9:42 AM
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