About six years ago, a very odd cat wandered into our yard, infiltrated the ranks and convinced my Most Wonderful Hubby to adopt him.
At first, I felt sorry for the pathetic little cat. How could you not? He has an extreme glandular problem that causes him to drench not only himself but the unfortunate person petting him with rivers of slobbers anytime his motor starts to purr. Hence the name Drooley. In addition to this little hang up, he gives all new meaning to the phrase “Scaredy Cat.” I’m pretty sure if you look in the dictionary, you’ll find his picture there next to the definition. Most of our family and friends have never met Drooley because he is terrified of human beings, dogs, other cats, birds, butterflies, bugs, most anything that breaths and many objects that don’t including leaves, flowers and individual blades of grass.
Because of his dripping saliva problem, he is an outdoor cat that spends the majority of his time plotting how to get in the house. The rest of his free time is devoted to thinking up ways to bring added excitement to my day. That is why he has gone through the gamut of names such as “Stupid Cat,” “Annoying Cat,” “That Awful Cat,” and most recently “The Heinous Cat.”
He earned that particular title just the other day. Unable to sleep, I decided to get an early start on my appointment with the treadmill and headed out to our backroom where we keep the barely used exercise equipment. The Heinous Cat was on the patio acting like something had frightened him half to death, which by the end of the debacle, I was wishing it would have finished the job. Taking pity on him, I let him come in the backroom with me while I walked.
Behaving strange, even for him, I didn’t give it a lot of thought until I looked over and saw the cat was attempting to hack a fur ball. I jumped off the treadmill hollering and shooshing, but not soon enough. It wasn’t pretty. Neither was the spectacle I made running around the backyard with a tiny flashlight trying to locate the shovel. Gosh, it was dark that morning. (By the way, certain matter on carpet does not shovel well at all.) After I finally finished cleaning up the mess, there sat the cat on the patio, looking quite pleased with himself as he tried to sneak in the back door. I really needed another reminder of all the reasons I am a dog person.
Most Wonderful Hubby managed to sleep through not only the entire incident, but the back door slamming, my stomping and the bathroom door slamming. By the time I was out of the shower and Hubby was up, I informed him he and the cat were both fortunate that I was beginning to see a bit of humor in the entire situation otherwise The Heinous Cat would be sitting out front with his furry little posterior super-glued to the road waiting for a truck to drive by. I think the cat must have overheard that comment. The Heinous Cat has managed to stay out of my way since the incident. We’ll see how long it lasts.
[…] So being a good daughter-in-law, I adopted the phrase as my own. There are many things that do not “speak to me” like laundry, housecleaning, ironing, being outside in freezing temperatures, cranky people, ironing, bad food, howling wind, ironing, calendulas, screaming children, horrid smells, ironing, and heinous cats. […]
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