I’m not a scaredy cat, but I am scared of my cat. It’s amazing how something this adorable…
Several years ago, before I realized her true nature, I asked the vet about getting some kitty hormone-replacement therapy. “Some cats are just like that,” he said, as if I’d never owned a cat before. Yeah, well, I have—grew up with a black cat who was either weak in the Force or leaned more toward Jedi tendencies. Maybe “some cats” are mean, but this is waaaay beyond that. Like, leaves-scars-from-biting-you different.
Honestly, I’m afraid to leave my room at night. Storm has a way of lurking in a dark corner and attacking when least expected. Though her snuggle time is possibly even more dangerous. Loving and cuddling and then…like a cobra, she coils back and strikes. No claws, just teeth. Jagged, bloody, ugly scars. She’s good.
Even so, I love her. I’m like the codependent domestic abuse victims who refuse to file charges against the beater. What a stupid thing love can be.
I’m at once proud and horrified. The Dark Side of the Force is strong in this one, yet I know she lusts only for my destruction. Storm will turn ten this fall. I will let her.
Unrelated: I just noticed a little happy face in the corner of my edit screen. Nice work, Word Press!