SUNDAY SAUCE; That old, grey puss

Oxy Moron, Contributor

Cuddly puppies I adore, but as they get older, I stay far. I really am not into dogs. Cute little kittens I might give a pat or two, but I just don't care for cats either. They have a certain 'I-am-better-than-you' air about them. They don't walk, they sashay, and suddenly they can turn on you and scratch, just like that famous supermodel.

They are sneaky, and tend to be very lazy. Invariably, they are thieves. Once I overheard a former popular talk show host asking a friend of hers where she could find a puss that was not a thief. To myself I said, "Not even in heaven, for they shall drink all the milk and spit into the honey."

But there are two things that people find admirable about them. They keep themselves clean, albeit with their saliva, and they cover their crap with dirt. As for the latter, as a child, when I asked about this rather peculiar behaviour, I was told that they didn't want us humans to mistake their crap for sugar plums, so they cover it up.

rain, thunder and lightning

Nobody could ever mistake me for a sugar plum, but I was covered up in my bed, nevertheless, the other night when the rain, thunder and lightning decided to celebrate Tropical Storm Nicole's coming with some fireworks. I was dreaming when it all started. In my dream, I was asking when the war was going to be over. Until I realised that I was no longer dreaming, the bomb explosions were actually lightning and thunder, and the sirens were car alarms going off. Nevertheless, I snuggled up some more.

Morning came. I reluctantly left the warmth of my bed. Curtains pulled, outside looked apocalyptic. I staggered into the living room, was about to enter the kitchen when I saw a creature curled up on a cushion in my couch. I stood agape. The door was locked. I looked again, and saw it was an old, grey puss.

I rushed for a broomstick. It heard my excitement and jumped from the couch. I pursued it, but it hid behind everything it could. So, I opened the door. It was now behind the fridge. I poked it and it meowed loudly. I didn't care. I moved the fridge a little, and it dashed by me, through the door and into the rainy morning.

paw prints

I took up the cushion, rearranged the furniture, and tried to forget this most presumptuous intruder out of my mind, only to find muddy and bloody paw prints all over the kitchen counter. Disinfectant, disinfectant, disinfectant.

The inclement weather continued as the day progressed, and so was a little odour, not that mouldy one that comes after rain, but a nauseating one. I lit incense sticks and I sprayed, but there was no letting up. In the evening, I decided to catch up on the latest, so I reclined in the same couch, now wiped and disinfected, where the stray puss had slept the night before.

Then a powerful scent hit my nostrils. I flew up. I knew it! I began to search frantically, pulling and pushing this and that. The settee, the settee. And there it was under my couch. A huge pile of feline sugar plums! Someone had forgot to tell that old, grey puss that there is no dirt whatsoever in my apartment.

oxydmoron@gmail.com