Revenge Is Best Served Ice Cold

After a couple of days, Phil (the old guy), started to get a little cocky. I studied his routine. At about 6:30 a.m. he comes down and takes me out of the cage and brushes and scratches me, which, I must admit, I like. Then he puts soft food in my bowl and puts me back in my cage and takes out the kit lit for a cleaning. Then he leaves. He comes back about an hour later for another brushing in his lap. Same at about 1:00 p.m. Then again a couple of times in the evening (plus more food). On day three I was ready to spring my trap. After the brushing in the morning, Phil decided to give me a personalized tour of the garage . . . holding me in his arms. Not being a "tour" kind of cat, I resisted but I got a tour anyway (from what I have later learned, this is typical of this guy). Anyway, I decided to spring my trap and end the tour early by taking a big, juicy bite out of his hand. Well I aimed for the hand but got a finger . . . and produced plenty of blood. The next thing I knew I was airborne, which was fine with me until I landed in a strange garage. Not having fully thought my plan through, I freaked out, looking for a place to hide while Phil said some not-to-nice things (remember, I'm only 2). Bleeding profusely, Phil apparently decided that catching me was more important than loosing a finger. We played chase around the garage for about a half hour until I made the mistake of holing up in the luggage. Trapped like a rat. Except that I realized I had developed a new power . . . the cat bite, and that Phil was afraid of the cat bite. Curses. He found a leather garden glove, put it on, and reached for me. Pittttttthhhhhhhh. I hate the taste of leather! Nevertheless, I latched onto the glove with my teeth which allowed Phil to pull me out with the other hand, grab me by the nap of the neck, sprint to the cage and throw me in. Was I proud that I drew blood? Hell yes I was proud. I had done my feral Catly duty and resisted to the bitter end. I'm now doing the time for my crime . . . in the cat box . . . with my butt facing the old guy.