The cat with a grudge

Licking you own anus trying to get rid of your competitor’s blood is one thing. Having nothing to do with their eventful expulsion from the world of the living and being an innocent observer in what in the past could have been one of your greatest masterpieces is quite another. Obviously both are rather pathetic but the cat with the grudge had no time to feel sorry for herself, she had done so for quite some time, and it was those fucking pigeon’s fault all along.

It was not like yesterday or anything, but she could still remember even the finest of details. When she was handed out the assignment to kill that freaking panda, she was more than pleased with the job, so much she could do it even for nothing, although she never quite figured it out why the pigeons wanted it out of the picture. She assumed that they were probably annoyed like everybody else, just like she was, annoyed by the obnoxious creature’s habits, its smell, the disproportionate attention relative to its importance it was receiving by the guards. Everybody hated that sloth of a bastard animal, that ridiculous lump of fat, but nobody could make a move without the pigeon mafia agreeing to it. Those were the rules and everybody abided it to them otherwise you would get a beating, or worse a visit by the cat. And seriously, you did not want that cat to visit you. Not in those days anyways.

Her first attempt was characterized by anger and blood thirsty instincts, going in there without much of a plan, just yearning to jump on the beast and scratch its lazy eyes out. All good and well you might think, after all a master assassin cat like the one we are talking about against a panda – a panda for god’s sake! – should be an easy win to predict. On the other hand it is true that over-confidence can lead to shitty results, and the cat learned that the hard and literal way. After entering the cage of the black and white fallacy of Darwin’s theory, she went straight for the kill mastering an incredible jump for the panda’s head, which impervious to it’s surroundings as usual, bent just a little bit to scratch its filthy toe, a challenging task to say the least. The result was a higher than needed jump, and an even worse crash land on the panda’s toilet whose size allowed for the over-jealous cat to slide through forty meters worth of shitty pipe work before swimming for her life in a strongly bamboo flavored cesspool. She was disgraced and her ego was badly injured, not to mention that she stank for three whole days. It was humiliating and she had to make up for it.

Her second attempt, well it is rather difficult to put it simply, it was rather brutal. It had all the aesthetic characteristics of what the operation should look like but the gory details were splattered all along the wrong directions. She had construed an elaborate plan, a devilish work really, that involved all kind of tricks, ropes, lasers, mechanisms, gizmos and stuff hopefully culminating to the equivalent of a work of art in the world of animal assassins. That is, animals that are assassins, not assassins that kill animals, they are a whole different breed altogether. Yet, as you would expect from any such elaborate scheme, there is always some small detail that will ruin even the greatest of all intentions, and true to all karmic traffic, there was such a small detail. The cat weary of the elevated danger set by her own traps, moved into what seemed to be a faulty hinge that could possibly screw up her orchestrated scenery of panda death. When she got close enough, she sniffed it a bit, moved her head in all possible ways trying to figure out a remedy for the still undefined problem. As she reached out her pawn to try and get a pawns-on mind set on the situation, she felt some of her brain cells sweating, feeling her new fallacy, going for quantity rather than quality. Now, even more brain cells were realizing that the operation was not slick at all, they were agonizing at the prospect of the cheap Chinese materials. Chinese! ‘Chinese’ now the majority of her lethal brain cells were screaming inside her tiny head. Pandas were Chinese, and it would be such a great irony if that fat menace would be hacked by compatriot materials, but could they be trusted? Did they bear the engineering excellence and tolerance to do in one of their own? Fuck no.

The moment the cat regretted her intentions, the hinge didn’t; it collapsed in a dull and severely harmful way. Blades, wires and machetes flew in all directions, their whizzing sounds so sharp and horrible that even the fucking panda woke up staggering to understand what was going on in front of him. The cat tried to do her best, she really did, but it would be foolish even to wish for an unscathing outcome. Unfortunately her killing instincts had outperformed her survival skills. The end result was pitiful, one eye (the left) and one leg (the front right) less, just to mention some of all the injuries, with the worst being her pride. For a moment she stood there all bloody and disgusting, her right front leg resting ten feet away and her left eye nowhere to be seen (catch the irony?), but the real terrifying sight for ever to imprint on someone’s soul was her other eye, empty, void, in shock of ever experiencing something like that, something so low and demeaning. Through that eye everything she was and stood for departed for ever, leaving her hurt and empty like a broken sea shell on a dirty shore.

Anyone with a heart should not even bother with her third and final attempt. It did not lead to any further amputation, but rather served as a seal to her fate of humiliation. It did not make things any better or worse, but verified an already established trend, making her situation even more miserable. Think of Mike Tyson’s last few bouts, something like that. So, there she was, yet another player of lesser than humane intelligence but with equally complex psyche, a seemingly uninvolved bystander to the unfolding saga of the monkey and the bear, but in fact, like the thin smelly rat, a small but still crucial participant in what would follow. What about the panda bear one might think. Well, it wasn’t that hard for the three ninja pigeons. All they had to do is date a couple of Chinese pigeons, and then shit all the time at the panda. Chinese bird flu works in mysterious but yet effective ways. It was that kill that established them as the number one assassination service in the zoo and the near streets, condemning the cat to a miserable life of envy and shame.

All in all then, it is not that bad licking pigeon blood of your anus. Surely, it seems sad to have your major antagonists slaughtered by factors other than the ones you pursued, but after all they are out of the picture either way! Was the cat back in the game? In all truthfulness no, she was not, she had to train again both mentally and physically, but the chance just lay there, small albeit, a chance nonetheless. Who knows, the monkey and the bear had already caused enough trouble, and the pigeons might feel upset about it, they might want to do something about it. Ambition and positive thinking were not her best attributes, but still managed to feel hopeful future. She was given another chance and she was not about to let it go. No matter how weak and battered she was she would try for one last time, she would try and built up on the legend she once had established. The cat was back!