cats

Sunday morning, clawing nose

Why my cat is evil

Scoop the Cat, a founding member of the eight tray gangsta shotgun crips
Scoop the Cat, a founding member of the eight tray gangsta shotgun crips
John Bear

I live in Belen and spend a lot of time alone.
After checking out the local club, music and social scene, I bought a cat at the shelter for ten bucks. It was the only way to keep from going crazy with loneliness.
My cat’s name is Scoop. She likes to roll around on newspapers and put her paws on notebooks.
I keep a bucket of fake mice on the coffee table. She likes to pick them up, fling them at my face, fetch them and bring them back. About 150 of the neon rodents lay stockpiled beneath the couch.
The beast compliments my more obsessive compulsive tendencies. She sits at perpendicular angles to the edges of rugs and kneads her paws a set number of times.
It’s been good. She makes a fine companion.
Having said that, she:
* Wakes me up daily at five thirty with a claw and whisker facial.
When I refuse to wake up she:
* Bites my feet.
* Jumps on my face.
* Lets out a trill that would be cute at, say, 3 p.m., but is nerve racking when day is just beginning to creep over the horizon (on little cat feet?).
This morning Scoop Polanskied me. For those of you who haven’t seen “Chinatown,” Roman Polanski makes a brief but memorable cameo in which he sticks a knife up Jack Nicholson’s nose and slices his nostril. Since Scoop lacks opposable thumbs, a knife was out of the question. She chose a hind claw.
Needless to say, I woke up. There’s nothing more depressing than television at 5:30 on a Sunday morning.