That Damn Cat...

"MREOW!" What the - urgh, what time is it? 3:00 AM blinks at me in red LCD. God. Fucking. DAMN IT. That damn cat. I hop out of bed and pull up a wrinkled pair of trousers. It's dark as all get-out, but I know my bedroom like the back of my hand. I manage to stumble to the door without stubbing a toe. Thank God for small miracles.

I throw open the bedroom door and glare at my cat. "Lester, you rotten bastard. Do you need to go out? You know, I installed that kitty door for a reason." Lester just looks up at me intently, his gray tail whipping this way, then that. Bloody cat. He doesn't have to get up at six in the morning to commute an hour to work.

Resigning to my fate, I trudge to the kitchen and flick on the light. Bloody hell, that hurts. I shield my eyes for a moment, then fumble about for a can opener. Mom always said cats are good for you, lower your blood pressure and such... Yeah, I like the little bugger, but I like sleeping through the night even more. I knock the can on the side of a small dish. Plop. I can't believe he eats this shit, but apparently, at $2.29 a can, this is the gourmet cat dish of choice. Whatever. He's good company, I just prefer his company when the sun has already risen.

I set the dish down on the linoleum, and Lester starts chowing down. "You're lucky, you know that? A lesser man would have made chow mein out of you by now." Lester doesn't seem to notice. I sigh and light up a smoke. Might as well calm down before trying to get back to sleep - that is, if that damn cat lets me sleep through what's left of the night. So needy! I thought cats were independent. Apparently not.

Conveniently, old Lester finishes up his delicious brown muck as my smoke goes down to the filter. "I hope you're happy, buddy. At least one of us should be." He doesn't seem to mind me berating him, as he's nuzzling up against my leg. "Alright jerk, you're the worst cat in the world, and I'm going to get some sleep." He looks at me, almost quizzically. As if a cat could be quizzical. I'm less interested in what's going on in my cat's head than I am in returning to the soft embrace of my mattress.

I take a few steps toward the bedroom, when suddenly my hazy, cigarette-induced calm is shattered by a screeching "MREOW!" Oh ho ho, buddy, you're crossing the rubicon. "LESTER! What the hell, man?" I sigh. I'm talking to my cat. Am I losing my mind? "Piss off, someone's gotta pay the bills. And until you get a job at McDonald's, I gotta get up at six in the morning. So can it." I turn around and resume my march to bed, sweet bed.

In my sleepy daze, I hardly notice that damn cat running in between my legs. Lester stops at my bedroom door and turns to face me. What is his problem? His eyes glitter like a little pair of jewels against the dark backdrop of my wonderful, sleep-inducing bedroom. My lust for unconsciousness is becoming palpable.

I don't believe in violence against animals, but I'm about ready to kick this cat's ass.

I take another step forward, and Lester lets out a low hiss. This is uncanny. He's a pain, but this cat worships me. Now he's woken me in the middle of the night, I've fed him, and he has the audacity to hiss - at ME? "LESTER! Chill out, kitty. I just want to sleep. You can sleep with me, okay buddy?" Another step forward is met with a growl and a hiss.

"Alright, time to show you who wears the pants in this relationship." I scoop up the cat and start making my way to the bedroom. Did I just refer to my cat and I having a relationship? Jesus, man. It's gotta be the fatigue. I shake it off and cross the threshold to the bedroom.

And at that very moment, Lester goes batshit fucking ballistic. He's screeching, he's mewling, and he's clawing the ever-loving hell out of my arms. My adorable little kitty-cat has become a raging ball of fur, spit, teeth and claws. I'm so exasperated and exhausted, I can't even think of a suitable curse to shout out at him. I drop him, expecting him to skitter off, but he starts tearing up my legs. Great, my cat's a fucking demon.

"LESTER! CUT! IT! OUT!" I shout at him. I scramble to scoop the dumb bastard up and toss him out of my bedroom, but he's hopping about, hissing and scratching like a madman. Or, uh, mad-cat. Whichever. I've had enough of his shit. I reach out to my left and flick the bedroom light on.

That's when I saw it, squatting next to my bed. I don't know what that was, and God help me, I don't want to. All I care to recall is a hunched-over figure, two beady eyes, and two glittering rows of smiling, jagged teeth.

I grabbed Lester like he was a fumbled ball in the Superbowl and ran to my car as fast as my smoker's lungs would carry me. In one adrenaline-fueled blur, I started the engine and tore ass out of the parking lot. I drove until the sun came up with Lester in my lap, and arranged to stay on a friend's couch until I could find a new place. I told him I had been evicted. I told the landlady I had unexpectedly landed a new job, and apologized for the inconvenience of having to throw away the possessions I had left behind.

And not a night has gone by that I haven't had Lester by my side, sleeping soundly on my chest. Sometimes he still wakes me up in the middle of the night for a snack, but I don't mind. I love that damn cat.