Lewis spends most of his day sleeping. His intermittent slumbers are interrupted only by his occasional desire to eat. He's a happy-go-lucky fellow that usually minds his own business. I guess you could call him a cool cat. Mainly, because he is a cat.
My long-time friend, Chad, was first introduced to Lewis about ten years ago. The relationship started off without much ado. But it gradually escalated into the tumultuous kinship that they currently share. This is their story....
In ways, their interactions could be loosely compared to the Michael Douglas/Glenn Close relationship in "Fatal Attraction". Of course, Lewis doesn't wield a knife or a pair of scissors. Instead, he possesses a set of sharp claws. I've been told that he sharpens these claws whenever hears that Chad will be visiting. But I have not witnessed it for myself.
Much like an approaching storm, Chad's arrival casts an ominous shadow over Lewis's demeanor. As Chad's Dodge minivan (ironical referred to as "The Black Tiger") rolls into my driveway, you can see the hair on Lewis's back start to stand up.. His tail fluffs up like a Swiffer duster. He then begins to methodically pace the room. (I like to refer to this part as the calm before the storm).
As Chad walks towards the house, a subtle growl can be heard. I have never known a cat to growl, but Chad brings out even the most mystical things in Lewis. Instead of hiding out in the basement or one of the upstairs bedrooms, the black cat perches himself a top the dining room table. From here, he gets a better vantage point. After all, Chad outweighs Lewis by about 200 pounds. So, any strategic advantage is welcomed.
As Chad enters the room, Lewis greets him with an icy stare. His eyes lock on him like a heat-seeking missile. Chad approaches Lewis and greets him with, "What's up, you worthless piece of shit?!"
Lewis is not impressed by Chad's blatant display of disrespect. For a brief moment, he thinks about responding with a quick open-pawed swat to teach him some manners. But he stays composed and responds only by locking his stare even tighter. He has learned that there are times to pounce. And this is not the time.
As Chad and other guests move out to the back yard, Lewis takes a deep breath transitions into a comfortable slumber. He will rest for now....
A little while later, Chad re-enters the house to use the bathroom. After expelling several Bud Light Limes from his system, Chad emerges from the hallway bathroom feeling a bit more courageous. But still, he approaches Lewis very cautiously. Chad slowly moves his right hand under the cat's chin. Instinctively, Lewis raises his left paw and assumes his fighting stance. Chad then makes a sudden move and instantly pays for it. With lightning-quick precision, Lewis opens up Chad's forearm with three razor thin gashes.
Shouting a slew of profanities, Chad pulls back and clutches his arm. Most sane individuals would just acknowledge defeat and move on. But Chad will have none of that. He reaches back in with his left hand, thinking that he can somehow outsmart the cat. But this too would prove to be futile. Lewis fakes a swipe with his left paw and then sinks his teeth into webbing between Chad's thumb and index finger. As Lewis retracts his teeth, he doubles down and throws a jab with his right paw. He lands cleanly and adds a few more puncture wounds to Chad's already bleeding hand. If Chad had a corner man, he would have thrown in the towel by now. Lewis, knowing that he's fully in charge now, simply releases his grip and shows Chad some mercy. He would rather leave Chad a little battered than permanently maim him. He wants to assure that Chad will keep coming back.
It's like watching one of those old Kimbo Slice videos.....
Feeling equally pissed and beaten, Chad retreats to the kitchen and grabs a wad of paper towels to wrap his injuries. He carefully walks by Lewis on the way out the door. As he passes, he mumbles more profanities under his breath. Lewis looks at him as if to say, "Keep coming back. I'm here all day."
Chad rejoins the group outside. He loudly announces that Lewis is an asshole. Everyone sees the bloody wrap around his hands. But no one even bats an eye. We've all seen it before. Chad enters the house unscathed, picks a fight with the cat, gets his ass kicked by the cat and then emerges the house with his hands wrapped in paper towels. What's the old saying about doing the same thing over and over and then expecting different results? At some point, you've got to acknowledge that you're overmatched.
There was a time when Lewis would track down and catch an occasional insect that found it's way into our house. But ever since Chad entered the picture, he doesn't react at all to these things anymore. Instead, he reserves all of his energy for the human pin cushion that he calls Chad.
kw
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