Every night, at around about 3am, one of my cats will, without fail, decide to menacingly slink across the piano in our living room, sounding out a grim dirge that rings across the flat. Up and down on the lower note section of the keyboard he slowly stumbles, apparently until he’s absolutely positive that his macabre melody has terrified everyone in the building half to death.
My asshole cat won’t stop being an asshole and individually tearing every single decoration off of Becky’s Christmas tree (while I, admittedly, sit and do pretty much nothing about it).
Anyway, a second ago, I decided that enough was probably enough, and walked over there to stop him, and as if he bloody knew, he clawed onto a branch that held a small, hard, acorn-style decoration thing, dragged it back and fired it over his shoulder and right into my eye, before he (knowing what he’d done, because he’s a clever little asshole) leapt down and ran out the room, leaving my disorientated just long enough to trip over a coffee table and lose track of him.
Such an asshole.
I’m currently creeping around my living room with no lights, bar one candle, in the middle of the night. Becky is asleep on the sofa, Sherlock (the cat) is asleep on the tea table, and Moriarty (the other cat) is asleep on the carpet. I’m skulking around to get a glass of water ready on Becky’s bedside because I’m about to carry her through and she always mumbles for me to bring her some water (even though she won’t drink it because she’s only sleep talking). No one is moving a muscle or making a sound.
Now, call me imaginative, but it totally looks like everyone is dead.
I mean… They aren’t, but still this room is pretty damn creepy. I’m getting a definite Sherlock Holmes-esque, macabre crime scene vibe.
What if they really are dead? What if everyone is dead…?
Wait… No… The cat farted. It’s cool, guys.
Every single night I hear my cats crashing and smashing and knocking things over in the other room. I hear them meowing and hissing and breaking things and tearing things, but then when I go through to survey the wreckage the following morning, there’s never a single item out of place.
These fucking cats creep me out.
So, my kitten Sherlock, has this obsession with being in our bathroom sink whenever the tap is running; so if I’m brushing my teeth or shaving or whatever, he’s right in there. It’s gotten to a point where he’s so desperate to play in the running water, that if he sees anyone walk into the bathroom, he’ll preempt them, and already be in the sink when they go to use it.
Anyway… So I went in to the bathroom, desperate to pee; and I’m there, and I start, and I don’t hear him running from the next room. Now, to get to the sink, if I’m there, he only has one way to go. Before I could do anything, he leaps right through my stream of urine and up into the sink, with a line of piss all the way down his back.
Sure, I cleaned him down with a wet cloth, but still… Piss cat.
The fact that I’m drunk doesn’t in any way make any of this my fault