February 20, 2009
Polydactyl Cats Freak Me Out
Yes, it’s true. I once had a gardener, his name, not important here. It was Frank. He was a good gardener, always kept the posies looking excellent. He found this thing out in the garden last summer. Huddled amidst the rose bushes and half covered with mulch was this animal. It was dead, most likely from the poison I keep scattered around the yard. Vermin. They’re nobody’s friend. Let me tell you.
I took it, in a burlap bag, to the only person I thought could identify this beast. Frank’s brother Harold ran a laundry business. He reads books about animals on the side. He’s virtually a zoologist. And his clothes. Impeccably clean.
So I toss this burlap pile on his desk. Harold’s desk. His face was one of horror when he opened the bag. Indescribable. He had a bologna sandwich on his desk. Looked delicious. He pulled this…thing…out of the bag and he said this. “el Chupacabra”. I don’t know Spanish. He explained it was a mysterious creature. One of myth. I start thinking, hey, maybe this Harold guy doesn’t know crap from shoe polish. He explained more. The animal had teeth like a wolverine and when alive supposedly has a disposition like Frank’s wife. Woof. You don’t cross her.
I’m listening to Harold. It’s intense. Sitting mere inches from a beast that could rip our faces off. I’m struck with a paralyzing fear and left breathless when this THING leaps up on Harold’s desk. Frank. He’s passed out. Drinks like a fish. I scream, what the hell is that?! “Diablo!” Harold says. I don’t speak Portugese, I tell him. It had hands like catcher’s mitts. Green eyes. Bushy fur. It’s staring at me. Then it makes its way toward the sandwich. Harold. It’s devouring his sandwich with those massive hands. Holds it like a carnie with a funnel cake. Can’t blame it. It looked delicious. And turns to me. I freeze. The beast launches into my lap. “DIABLO!” cries Harold. Nothing can tame this creature. I feel the pressure to pee, in my pants. It subsides. “GET DOWN!” I’m like, Harold, what are you saying. Unbelievable.
“My cat. Diablo. He’s friendly. Pet him.” I cup the beast’s head in my hand. Fear. “He’s got six toes on each foot.” I stood up, dumping the beast onto the hard floor. Linoleum, I think. Had to hurt. In silence I left. I’m not sure. I need to twitter this.
Walken out.
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6 Responses to “Polydactyl Cats Freak Me Out”
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did it carry a watch with sentimental value in its ass?
why not just call the cat an eggplant and shoot his ass?
Bang Bang Bang I haven’t killed anybody Bang since 1984 Bang Bang.
Tell that to that eggplant chupacabra of a cat with a watch up its ass.
Diablo? Sounds like Lyle.
Funny story! Great twist. Good narrative style, interesting. Channeling Walken you may have uncovered your greatest talent…. story telling!
I had a cocktail called El Diablo last night. I never take these things seriously, but it does appear that I imbibed if not the, then at least a devil. I can empathise with this situation.