Trevor and the penal colony
and designer cats getting decked
Oh I had an issue this evening dear reader.
That’s right.
I encountered a problem.
Neither small nor large, I resented it just the same.
You see, it was Friday night.
By this time, I’d decided that I’d had enough.
The universe however disagreed.
I was out for a walk with my best boy - Trevor.
We have a bit of a fucked up relationship.
I refer to him as my best boy.
And he refers to me as one of my diabolical captors.
It’s a fair assessment.
He spends his days locked in our house, peering out windows at all of the delicious birds and filthy cats that he’d like to kill.
Sadly however, he only gets time in the yard at the pleasure of his captors.
My guess is that cats like him think of our home as a penal colony.
That is a terrible assessment.
My family lives here, not a large group of random penises.
Wouldn’t it be lovely dear reader, if a penal colony was composed of a bunch of disembodied cocks.
Could you imagine the name?
The Royal Dominion of Detached Dicks.
Some say that this might be disasterous to indigenous peoples where the penal colony might be established.
Right?
Rape culture incarnate is what those with an undergrad degrees in gender might say, but really, who’s listening?
Because with that many dicks?
They’d have to be gay.
There’d be no penetration, nor BJ‘S.
Just a bunch of touching tips.
I imagine that touching tips would be the gay version of the air kisses that French people give each other.
So I had Trevor out, for a walk around the rounds of the penal colony, as I do in the evenings.
When all of a sudden, he just took off and ran.
In a flash I was after him and found him on the front walk of the neighbours house.
And dear reader, you remember my neighbour right?
That’s right, it was that neighbour.
And out in front of that neighbour.my cat was making noises, loud meowling noises.
And he wasn’t merely a nine year old learning to play the clarinet.
He was accompanied by a white cat with fuzzy fur and one of those smushed in face.
I did not recognize this cat. We have new neighbours who paid a lot more for their shitty house than we did for our nice one.
And this might be their cat.
He was one of those supper fluffy, designer cat with a smushed in face making him look pissed off all the time.
You know the type, those snobby, angry, stuck up smushed faced cats.
Luckily?
Trevor is a 22lb cat and he kicked the shit out of the new cat.
I heard them. It was viscous.
It was exciting.
It was cool.
My cat was the bad ass.
Mine was the boss.
And that little girlie man soft handed accountant cat?
He limped home to write code and lick his little smushed face designer mother fucking arse.
But I was pissed of ya know why dear reader?
I was pissed off because here were these two cats beating the shit out of each other and making enough noise to make even the rats stop fucking and if anyone came out and got cross, if anyone were pissed off by the antics,
They’d let me have it.
Right?
Here I am, doing the right thing, taking my cold blooded killer out for some yard time when some irresponsible new person in the neighborhood lets theirs out without support.
Right?
If their cat were being supervised, mine never would have darted off out of my arms reach and beat the shit out of their cat.
Which is why, when they come to complain about their smushed face snob cat having shredded ears, I’m going to tell them it’s their own damn fault.
Don’t the know they live with a killer?
And then?
Maybe then, they’d find some more penises so their cat would understand that he too was a prisoner at a penal colony.