Cat heat nightmare

A reprint from last summer, which with hindsight was nothing like this one, this madness of heat.

Also, this is apparently my 1001st post. Yay me. Two weeks to my three-year blogi-anni-versary, too.

* * *

Here’s a little nightmare scenario I dreamed up today.

You have a cat.

It is a warm summer day — no, beyond warm. Baking. Sweltering. So hot that if you piss outdoors, the only thing to hit the ground is a lazy streamer of foul, ammonia-smelling vapor.

Your cat is thus indoors; and having found no other escape from the heat (the freezer being, in toto, occupied by your groaning bulk), has slunked to the toilet, and, with a tired meow, positioned itself inside the toilet-bowl, intuiting the smell a much lesser evil than the bliss of lukewarm water and shadow.

Then you, in your freezer, suddenly need to go and piss, and because of the thing mentioned above you indeed are not going to go outside. Thus you go to your toilet, and sit down.

You do not notice the cat below.

And what does the cat do?

Well, suddenly its world goes dark. The circle of light above is eclipsed by some vast, flabby monstrosity that emits a foul liquid belch, and waves what seems, in the twilight, like a finger in its direction.

And then the finger spits.

Thus the cat goes berserk: half a second after this it is not the only yowling thing.

Half an hour later you are on the desk of the closest vet, having the claws of your neurotically twitching feline disengaged from your bottom.

Half an hour after that you are in the office of your human-doctor; and despite your protests she assures you that there are all sorts — she does not judge — no, this is not even the first time she has stitched up the results of this particular sexual perversion — and she does not judge.

No sirree.

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