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Bit the bullet today.   Figuratively speaking – sorry if that disappoints you.   Bloodthirsty little bastards, aren’t you?

Went back to school, I mean.   And it was good.   The students and teachers were very polite, which was way too much fun.   They think, bless their pathetic little sympathy glands, that I’m probably “traumatised” from the horrors that some ‘unknown’ perpetrator(s) wrecked upon my neighbours last weekend.  

Uh huh.  

Well, who am I to set the record straight?   No homework, no teachers getting shitty with me, no need to even pretend I’m paying attention in class.   Passive, tolerated anarchy.   I’m loving it.

Mitchell the fish boy might actually have got some over the weekend, he’s so shit hot after telling his ‘abduction’ story all over the school.   His parents suspect his college brother’s jock friends, and didn’t like to call the police.   Doesn’t stop Mitchell getting inventive though.   I’ve gotta tell you, I find it kind of disturbing that in choosing the easy option of letting him live rather than cleaning up another mess (ie. the neighbours), I’ve made the kid an action hero instead of breakfast.   He’s telling tales so fucking tall Superman couldn’t leap them – how he, brave and cunning Mitchell, fought off his attackers and outwitted his captors and fled from his tormentors.   Fuck me – you’d think the whole cast of The Sopranos was in on it.

Only I know it was just one scary fucker.   One scary fucker called Py, who could rip up a roomful of mobsters before they had time to shit themselves.   One scary fucking son of a bitch who came down to play for a weekend, took me out rampaging, and left me Mitchell as a little goodbye present.   One scary fucking sonovabitch bastard who left me to take the rap for all the shit that went down, wrote me a preachy little letter on my own blog page for fuck’s sake – and told me he’d killed my Cat.

Not that I care about the Cat.   Fuck – after a few centuries, anything that can barely survive a decade isn’t even worth paying attention to – it’ll be gone before you know it.   And geez – I don’t ‘do’ pets.   Unless you count people I’ve befriended – and eaten.   Happens sometimes.   I get bored.   And it’s not like I chose the Cat anyway – it just moved in the other week, and I didn’t kill it right away.   But Py didn’t know that.   As far as he knew, it was my fucking Cat and maybe I liked it, or maybe I wanted to kill it myself.   He just did it to be a shit.

Well – even more petty than that.   It seems he just said it to be a shit.   Didn’t even follow through.   Because after I read his ‘intervention’, I broke some stuff and swore a lot, and calmed down, and went out in the dark to sulk.   And when I came back, I opened the door, slouched moodily into the lounge – and there, sitting on the coffee table was the Cat.   Looking exactly like no-one had turned the stupid house upside-down looking for it the past couple of days.   Looking pretty fucking alive for something Py said he’d killed.   Looking a bit worse for wear, mind you – dirtier and scruffier than usual even, and with a funny scar around the back of its neck.   Guess the Cat had a rough weekend too.  

I threw myself into the armchair and glared at the Cat for being fine.   And the Cat glared back because – well, because it’s a bloody cat.   And then I said “Fuck you”, and went to bed.   When I got up in the morning, the Cat had left me a peace offering – half a dead bird outside my bedroom door.

I was thinking about Py who fucked off without waiting to see if our escapades caused any problems for me.   And Kane who won’t even acknowledge I exist so I can fucking apologise for lying to him and hanging out with Py instead.   And all the kids and teachers and losers who are pussyfooting around, when they don’t even have the slightest fucking clue what was going on for me.

And it takes a bloody Cat to get it.   What’s with that.

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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3 Comments

  1. I like this cat. Cats have a way of reading us well. They just do, its not the ‘oh-my-god-I-love-you-feed-me’ crap that dogs do.

    • Cats just do the “Feed-me-or-die-a-horrible-painful-death-by-my-claw” thing…

        • Azariel
        • Posted September 3, 2009 at 8:40 pm
        • Permalink

        Oh yeah, been there, done that. If you are lucky you will just have a cat who will stare at you till you get a headache if you forget their food.


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