Kitty cat as teenager
Those of you in the know know that I have an orange tabby cat that is a couple of years old. He is the most belligerent cat you will ever meet. "Oh great," you're saying, "another story about one of your fucking cats. I'm so glad I checked your stupid blog today." Stay with me for a second, man, this'll be good.
His name is Gallagher and he has this fun little act he goes through when he feels he is being treated unfairly. The act is usually performed when I don't let him outside when he wants. He loves to go outside and he's well behaved when he is outdoors. He doesn't run off and doesn't fight me when I bring him back in. But he's convinced that he isn't allowed outside enough and he's right. If he wasn't such a glutton I'd let him outside every day. All he does, though, when I let him go out into the back courtyard is eat grass like the scenario from John Chrisopher's "The Death of Grass" is coming in a couple of hours. He doesn't explore his surroundings. He doesn't chase birds. Sometimes when it's really nice out he'll roll in the gross. Nine times out of ten he just eats fucking grass like a cow. One time I didn't stop him and take back inside after a few minutes to see if he would stop on his own. After about fifteen minutes I starting worrying that he might explode and just picked him up and took him inside. About thirty seconds later he puked his guts out. Because of all that I don't take him outside that often. Who wants to stand outside and watch a damn cat eat grass? Not me. I figure he needs to entertain or engage me in some way or he's wasting my time.
There are times when he demands to go outside. He'll sit in front of the back door. Look up at me and meow pathetically. I used to ignore his pleas but now I just tell him to shut the fuck up. He'll mew again and I'll tell him to shut the fuck up and then throw something harmless at him like a fork or one of the other cats. After about six hours he'll give up.
Now he's pissed that he degraded himself and he must resurrect his kitty dignity so he'll strut into the kitchen, crouch in front of the fridge, jump up and knock cartoons, rent notices and other interesting tidbits of our lives down onto the floor. By the time you get into the kitchen he's gone and you're left with a little mess of paper and novelty magnets to clean up. I can't get too annoyed about that. It's too creative.