Cat-astrophe

My first couple experiences with cats were not good ones.  I took care of the neighbor’s cat ‘Bunny’ when they went away for vacation once.  I was about 10 and Bunny was a white, fluffy cat with brown and black markings, kinda like the way a cow looks.  Bunny and I were inseparable.  I imagined her being my cat whenever I played with her outside.  So, Mrs. Brooks, the neighbor thought that Bunny would be well cared for by me when they went away.  That was until Bunny followed me over to play ‘kick the can’ with the neighbor kids.  This would be the same neighbor kids that had two giant dogs that liked to eat cats.  So, there I was, walking across the yard of Deanne and Joanne’s (twins) house and Bunny following close behind when the dogs came charging at 100 mph at us.  I mistakenly thought that Bunny would want me to save her and pick her up so the dogs wouldn’t eat her.  She preferred to run for the hills.  Our communication wasn’t great though so I picked her up.  She gouged at my face and my head and used her claws and her teeth to tear my skin just enough so I would let go of her.  Of course, I did.  The cat was able to escape without a scratch.  I, on the other hand, had to sit in my mom’s kitchen as she patched up the scratches around my eyes and all over my face.  I have never seen so much blood, and honestly, I thought I was going to lose my eye.  My mother told me “I shouldn’t have tried to pick up the cat.”  My father, who is a professed ‘cat-hater’ wanted to go hunting for “bunny.”  After that, Bunny and I had an understanding.  She would follow me wherever I went if she wanted to, and I would never, ever touch her again.

My second experience with cats was when I babysat for some people that lived across the street.  I don’t remember the name of that cat, but I remember that cat like it was yesterday.  I think I still have nightmares about it every once in awhile.  The cat was completely black.  It had green hazel eyes that stared at me the entire time I was at the house.  No matter how late the family stayed out, I could never take a chance and close my eyes.  The cat would stare and let out this ungodly howling sound, like a horror movie soundtrack.  The hair stood up on the back of my neck and I would plant myself on the couch and not move all night long in fear of my life.  They had a fireplace mantle and the cat would sit on the mantle, directly across from me and stare.  All night.  Stare.  As if to dare me to stand up and challenge it.  Once, the owners told me that I could “put the cat in the basement” if it bothered me.  So I tried that.  Ha ha ha ha ha…  oh yeah, right.  I picked up the black cat as it squirmed and fought me.  I held it at arm’s length and opened the basement door and tossed it on the first step to the basement and slammed the door shut.  The rest of the night, the cat threw himself at the basement door with such fury that I was sure it was foaming at the mouth.  The sounds emitted from the basement sounded like the cat had somehow gotten stronger through the ordeal.  I was paranoid to open the door and petrified not to.  So finally, before the parents came home, I opened the door and ran to my safety zone of the couch before it could eat me.  The cat jumped up on the mantle and continued to howl and stare at me until they came home.  I was never going to ever, ever, ever own a cat…well, at least not until Mark Searle somehow convinced me.