lord help me, I'm cat blogging. Does it count if I'm just saying cats are evil?
Where's PETA when you really need them?
A couple in Oregon had 500 dogs in their house, while a woman in Nevada was found to be living with 60 cats. Not even close to the 200 felines the Cat Lady of East Meadow had, but still, even 60 is a lot of cats.
What does one do with 500 dogs? Where do you put them? Where do they all sleep?
When I first read the story I had this weird vision that the woman was actually the pet and the dogs were the masters. They sat around playing poker and watching football while the woman fetched them beer and scooby snacks.
Maybe the cops were mistaken and the dogs didn't actually live there, it was just one out of control canine bachelor party.
Hopefully, they didn't find this poster hanging up in the house anywhere.
Now, the cat story is what really gets me. Cats are evil. They are satan's pet. I did not come by this theory without firsthand knowledge.
First their was Lucky. As a matter of fact, I think there were several Luckies. All of them black as midnight, all of them with beady eyes and sharp claws and the ability to hiss on demand. Lucky used to sit on the edge of my bed every night and when I woke up -and I was only a little kid at the time - I would see nothing but Lucky's evil eyes glowing in the moonlight. Sometimes I thought he was trying to control my mind, sending me signals to obey him. I want tuna, I want liver, I want chicken, please deliver. Hissssssss.
Then there was Barnabas. I think there were about three in a row with that name. Either my mother was really bad at naming pets or she just couldn't let go when one of them disappeared or ran away to join satan's cat circus.
Barnabas was named for the master of cheesy vampires himself, Barnabas Collins from Dark Shadows. Mom was obessed with that show; still is in fact. I bought her the DVD sets for Christmas.
In fact, now that I think of it, mom was always reading or watching things to do with vampires and black magic. Yes, it's all coming together now. She used to subscribe to this magazine called Man, Myth and Magic, which had stories of satanic cults, ancient rituals and spiritual possessions. I wonder.....nevermind, I'm digressing.
So Barnabas the vampire cat used to spit at me. I tried to love him, I really did, but I thought he would claw my eyes out in my sleep if I gave him the opportunity, so I slept with my bedroom door shut and one eye open while he was around.
There was a succession of Barnabases (Barnabii?) after him and one was as evil as the next. Eventually they all came and went, slithering off into the dark of night to go wherever cats go when it's time for them to turn into real demons.
We went a while without a cat. I think there was a coffee colored Siamese cat in between the black devils at some point. I sort of remember him being mean, nasty and anti-social. Typical cat behavior.
Some time in the 80's, right before I moved out, we got our last cat. Yes, it was black. Yes, it looked evil. So what did my sister name it? Damien.
Perhaps the naming of our cats was sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe if we had named them Fluffy or Penelope or Nardo they would have been the type of cats that purred at your feet and didn't mind when your little cousin was dragging them around by their tail.
I have to say that Damien was my favorite of all the evil monsters we owned. He was obnoxious, rude and kept to himself. He reminded me of someone. To an extent, anyhow. Damien liked to go roaming the streets at night looking for fights. I was never into the whole rumble thing. And as much as I had this soft spot for Damien, I thought that he was trying to use the Jedi Mind Trick on me at night.
He would sit on the edge of my bed, right next to Spanky, our semi-retarded half cocker spaniel/half poodle who walked like he was trying to get his hind feet to go before his front feet, and I think sometimes Damien would try to get Spanky to join forces with him, but Spanky was just too lazy to be evil. So Damien would sit on the end of the bed, purring away, and when I would look up at him, he would smile. Yes, smile.
It wasn't one of those Chesire Cat, I'm here to help you but I'm going to make it really difficult for you smiles. It was the smile of evil, that kind of grin that only an animal or person with a 666 carved into their skull would know how to use.
He was trying to get me to join the dark side, to cross over and become one of them, the cat people who roam the night looking for flesh and blood to devour. You could see it in his eyes, in his teeth, hear it in his hiss. I would tell him no, I am not joining you, even if you say you are my father and then I would open the bedroom window and he would jump outside.
Later, I would hear some female cat screeching in pleasure as Damien tried to implant his demon seed in her.
Take my word for it. Cats are evil, which was the point I was trying to make way up there about the lady with the 60 cats.
She's not really a lady. She's a she-devil and those people who took the cats away are going to be mighty sorry when they are sitting in the shelter with the little kitties at night and suddenly they turn into flesh eating monsters.
Really. I saw it in a movie once.