My Stray Cat...

I inherited a cat from one of the oldsters in town. The people, they were settling into a nursing home and needed a home for their cat.

I assumed that the cat had been an integral part of the family. She is *ahem* well fed and mannerly. She is sweet and the only issue I have with her is that she has a sensitive stomach and if she eats to fast, she purges withing minutes. I wonder if she is doing it in an effort to become a dainty, svelte kitty like my beloved Twitch. I found out later that she was just a stray that they had taken in.

My dog has dry skin. The poor thing will scratch and chew at a part of her own skin until it bleeds. So, I give her a bath (translated to= I wrestle her into the tub, spray her and myself down, get SOME of the medicated shampoo on her and hope desperately that when I wash her off, I'm getting it all) with a medicated shampoo designed to relieve some of her 'doggy itch'.

My son, knowing what a travesty it is when animals scratch and chew their fur until they bleed, saw our hefty cat scratch behind her ears a few times.

One night, Ty was supposed to be taking a shower. I was talking on the phone to my older sister and listening to the shower run. Thinking that for ONCE, my son went ahead and got in the shower like a good boy would do, I blabbered on to my sister and thanked God for small miracles.

Then I heard the cat making the most horrifying noise, like she was about to erupt in projectile vomiting or an alien might be making it's way out of her plush, white belly.

I went looking for her all through the house, never once suspecting that my angelic child who was supposedly showering like his mother had insisted that he do, might have trapped said feline in the bathroom. Side note: he has a tendency to trap the animals in the bathroom with him in an effort to bond, I suppose. That or he's just a brat and enjoys their suffering. Welcome to today's topic: Axe Murderers: Childhood- the birth of a psycho.

As I passed the bathroom door, that cat let loose another squall and I stopped dead in my tracks, knowing to the marrow of my bones that I would not be impressed with what was behind door number one.

I nudged the door open, carefully, on the lookout for flying fur and claws. What I saw when the door was open is an image that will forever stay with me and one that I will draw forth when I think MY day has gone awry.

My son, standing in all of his little boy, pale fish skin, naked glory was holding my 20+ pound cat at the armpits, her feet dangling to the floor. Her face was a mixture of "I can't believe the mistreatment that I am receiving" and "If you don't do something about this RIGHT NOW, I will eat the face of this child!"

That poor cat. She looked like...

Only she looked MORE pissed. Like a demon being exorcised.

My angel child had thrown the cat in the shower, not once, but twice and the evil little shit had nary a mark on his see-through white skin.

Poor kitty. She suffered a great humiliation at the hands of the boy and it was made worse by the fact that when she came out to the living room and the dog tried to clean her up and make it better.