It’s the internet so of course you know all about how our pet cats are trying to kill us. Afterwards they shall make us into planters or rule the world or use our convenient absence to best our high scores in Fruit Ninja. In other words: they are plotting something so epic that Sean Bean himself will play the part of every single cat owner.
My cat, however, wants to do something a little more twisted: murder/suicide. Why? Because he loves me that much.
Phase One: Go Straight for the Jugular via the Heart
It all began about a year and a half ago when I brought little Sawyer home as an eight week old kitten. He was an adorable and energetic pile of fluff that quickly adapted to his new surroundings. He purred, ran around, and chased his tail for hours. But my heart was not to be so easily won.
He then tried gazing up at me with his big blue eyes, never blinking or wavering until I freaked out and yelled, “AMGS WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” Without missing a beat he would leap onto my lap and lick my face.
Then began the hardcore snuggling campaign that eventually won over my cold, shriveled heart. In my defense it is impossible to not succumb to a squirming bundle of fur who makes it known that there is no place on this entire globe more enticing than your lap.
Once he had ascertained his kitten shaped place in my heart, he began his campaign to make sure we would be Together Forever.
Phase Two: Nine Lives Countdown Clock to Zero
Step One: Become as Death Lying in Wait
The technical term for Sawyer is “blue-mitted Ragdoll.” The layman’s term is “blends perfectly into the color of your stairs when its lit only by the dining room below.”
I would walk down my stairs and discover that one of my stairs was moving or meowing at me as I began to step upon it. His plan was obvious: get me to trip on his body, which would crush his spine as surely as gravity would crush mine.
I countered by making sure that the stairway light is on every time I go up or down.
Step Two: Become as One Aflame Laid Bare by Death
My dad went to Italy last year and brought me back a pretty purple glass rosary from the Vatican. I put it on my headboard and admired the mini rainbows it threw around the room.
A few days later I was in my den when I heard the following sounds at the same time: pop, yell, crash. I raced towards my bedroom and was swiftly passed by a very fluffed out and alarmed Sawyer.
Upon first glance at my room, everything seemed to be in order: the usual stacks of books were still perched precariously upon my nightstand, and the discarded socks continued their discreet breeding in front of the dresser. Then I noticed that the rosary was no longer winking in the sunlight from its usual place.
I walked around my bed and found it laying tangled on the floor with my iPad charger cord. The two of them were fused together in a grotesque display of trying to combine science and religion into one all-powerful chimeric concoction. It was a noble effort, but all it did was make the charger explode, and singe the facial fur of Dr. Kittenclaw.
Lives? Down to eight.
Step Three: Become Death From Beyond Land and Sea
I countered his bedroom terrorism activities by keeping my door shut. Once again, he crafted a new plot. And once again, it involved the stairs.
There I would be, all innocence, walking to the first floor. My arms would often be filled with a ridiculous assortment of objects in a vain effort to make as few vertical trips as humanly possible. And in this vulnerable state he would attack.
A leap from behind me would come and I’d suddenly have four strong paws gripping one leg.
Now, the full picture of what is going on may not be entirely clear to you. Visualize that you are angling in a downward fashion with the tender tendrilic grips of gravity already tugging at your body. You then have a 17 lb cat launching himself at your legs and latching onto you. (In his defense, he does refrain from using his claws.)
I countered this behavior by giving him a bath.
Phase Four: Become as Death via Suicide/Suicide
Imagine this: here you are, tapping away at your computer. Maybe you are writing an Extremely Considerate Forum Post. Or maybe you are polishing off the Epilogue to the World’s Greatest Novel of All Time. Perhaps you are saving the world from Zombies by planting sunflowers and melon-pults. Regardless of whatever amazingly productive thing to humankind you are accomplishing, the point is that you are minding your own business and staying off the streets doing it.
Meanwhile… down in your kitchen… your crazy cat has gotten himself into a bag of garbage and immediately trots upstairs ensconced in the leftover wrapper from a loaf of bread.
His plot was momentarily foiled since I was able to remove the wrapper with ease.
Phase Five: Become as Death To Be Determined Dun Dun DUN
But he’s still out there. Waiting. Eating. Napping.