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Rated: GC · Short Story · Animal · #947176
This is one of 6 stories in Katz Tales From Up My alley by The Great KatzBee.
Y2K, Why Kick the Kat.
The Great KatzBee

Well looky here folks, the TV Networks have found a new ratings gimmick. Reality TV. Now I don't know 'bout you, but I was getting dog tired of sitcoms where the cast didn’t seem to grow up or even mature.
My humanoid, Marian, was so into these Reality TV Shows, that after a hard day at work, she would come home, kick off her shoes, get on the phone with one of her girlfriends and yap about who got kicked off or kicked out and who was going to be the next. Then there was Temptation this and that and Survivor this and that. You’d think that living in New York City would’ve been enough of a survival and a temptation.
Anyway, the other night, a bunch of us kats were hanging out at the backroom of this hotel having a couple hands of poker. You know, swigging a few Amsterdam brews and puffing on some illegal Cubanas, when Chuckie C, one the bright lights in the group, came into the room, (I call him a bright light 'cause he's one of them fellas who, when the room gets quiet for more than a second, he's got to say something.)
This time, he wondered about how Y2K had affected us Kats. Didn't I warn ya folks? This Y2K thing is even infecting poker games. Time was when the only things we discussed were fair felines and who could score some fast food over at the deli by snatching a piece of smoke meat before Lucy the Cook could smother it with mayonnaise and mustard. Now its Y2K this and Y2K that. For me Y2K, means Why Kick the Kat.

Case in point, a couple weeks ago, Marian goes on a date. I should tell you that as a journalist she doesn’t get a chance to go on too many dates. Anyway, on this particular night she brings home this real dapper humanoid, three-piece suit, black patent leather shoes and sufficient hair spray and gel to grease the axles of a freight train.
Mr. Charm was the type of humanoid who when he leaves a room, a bit of his charm still lingers long after, because his charm is all in his cologne. So Mr. Charm walked over to me to pick me up by the scruff of the neck. I hate that. So I backed away and gave a bit of growl. Right away I could tell he wasn't a cat person, I could smell dog on that loser from a mile away.
Mr. Charm was none too please with my growl. He was lucky that I didn’t hiss and spit.Anyway the growl got him off my back, at least for a while. Unfortunately, it also caused him to acquire an attitude. So for most of the night he and I just traded dirty looks.
I had the feeling that sooner or later he and I were going to have a showdown. Marian served him a drink and they sat and watched one of her favourite reality TV shows. When that was over they watched a rented movie. Meanwhile, I went to my favourite corner and curled up, bored as all hell. It just ain’t easy watching humanoids get into a shameless display of saliva swapping and groping on a couch, when you have had your most important parts amputated.

Well, when it became bedtime, there I was in the middle of the bed between them. Mr. Charm was none too pleased. I wasn't trying to block him from entering club paradise, but when the club is vulnerable, The Great KatzBee has got to be woman's best friend.
Marian goes to the bathroom and Mr. Charm listens for the door to slam shut. Then with a sly wicked grin on his on his neatly trimmed, bearded face, he says. “Listen you scruffy, fleabag, I don’t like kats and the only other person I want in this bed with me is Marian, so go spit up a fur ball or something.” With that he boots me out the bed, literally. I sailed across the room to the other side hitting the far wall and landing on the edge of dresser. Ouch! That smarted. Mistake on his part.
I didn't particularly like this dog loving, muscle bound humanoid when he walked in and now I really hated him. I can be one of the most patient kats that anyone could ever meet, especially when it’s payback time.
I lined up at the foot of the bed on the floor, crouched like a Bengal tiger readying itself to pounce on an antelope at a water hole. I watched for the moment when Mr. Charm, the kat hater, would be at his most vulnerable. You know when I mean. (Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.)
As I waited him out, all I could think of at that moment was the humanoids who got me fixed and stopped me dead in my tracks from performing the way Mr. Charm was about to. To me he personified that humanoid and all of the other humanoids who had done me wrong, and now it was time to correct all of those wrongs.
One of Mr. Charm’s big toes was sticking out from under the sheet all alone and just then that toe looked to me like a piece of prime round, grilled just right, medium rare. I could almost smell the aroma of freshly sautéed onions, smothered with fresh plump mushroom caps, sprinkled lightly with basil and thyme. All that was needed to complete the meal was a pint of ice cold Amsterdam Dutch Amber beer.
The mental picture that I had conjured caused me to lick my lips as I savoured its taste and succulence. It also made me excited and I could wait no longer. Incidentally, neither could Mr. Charm. So with one sudden action, just like the Bengal tiger I was emulating, I leaped and sunk my teeth into Mr. Charm’s exposed big toe, hanging on by my teeth to the toe, just long enough to inflict pain. For him this was double pain, physical and romantic. Because he could no longer proceed with what he was attempting to do.
Mr. Charm let out a loud scream, followed by an expletive. Then he jumped off the bed, naked as a shorn sheep, with everything swinging and dangling and hobbled to the bathroom crying like the Mama's boy that I knew he was. Now I was the one with the sly grin on his face.
Meanwhile Marian's romantic mood was broken and was replaced by an uncontrollable laughing fit. “It was only a little friendly nip,” she yelled, as he continued to holler and swear in the bathroom. Just then, I realised that it was time for me to take charge. I replaced Mr. Charm in the bed and snuggled up close to Marian. Women love it when the kat comes in and consoles them especially after some hot shot fails to stand and deliver.
I knew that I wouldn't be seeing Larry the Loser soon again, because he left cursing both me and Marian. That'll teach the old Yowler 2 Kick a Kat.

So ladies, if you are a Kat person, before you bring home Mr. Special, first find out if he is kool with felines. Hey because when that joker has trumped and you're dumped, you've only got your loving pet kat to console you. Know what ah mean? You with the crying and fist pounding on the table. Asking yourself, “Why, Why? How could I be that stupid.” Look out, your Kat is always right there.
Peace out, The Great KatzBee is history.
Until next time Meoow.

Katz Tales From Up My Alley
Copyright 1990
ISBN 09736628-2-4
© Copyright 2005 Hilda Agard (hildagard at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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