Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Submitted To The Thunderbox Without Comment.

That's a cat turd, and no, it will never turn into anything good. A lot of men say they hate cats but most secretly love them. My dad was just such a man. For Pop, I think cats served as an important emotional outlet for when Mom or I or life in general were otherwise driving him nuts.
"All that cat does is eat and chit..." If the hockey game was on and the cat curled up in your lap, he would say "How can you even stand that stinky bastid...?" Pop got downright unsporting at times, and had no problems playfully tossing a cat at his sons. Once airborne, a cat becomes a flying Moulinex. Pop insulted the cats with a dry humour and when he was sure nobody was watching, he petted them with all the kindness and love that he treated all the other animals with. Cats are a foolish and mischievous people and they knew a kindred spirit when they saw one.
His favourite cat was named UW which stood for 'Ultimate Warrior'. (The Ultimate Warrior was some obscure WWF wrestler that Pop and his grandchildren loathed). To this day, how Pop captured that cat is a mystery to me. I think it was once a feral farm cat...but the story goes that one day UW walked into the house like he owned it, and my parents just shrugged and started feeding him. The cat wouldn't hesitate to swing at me, the grandkids or the dogs and when he did - he opened you up and you bled. You didn't mess with UW - or he would mess with YOU. To this day I don't know what it is that my parents saw in him.
One day I was digging my motorcycle out of winter storage in Dad's shop and noticed a couple neatly laid cat turds on the seat of Pop's pride and joy - a brand new Case tractor. I deliberately dragged out the oil change and fussing with the bike just to see Pop's face when he came in to fire up his heart throb only to find that his cat had shat on it! This was gonna be good - or so I thought.
Pop came striding into his shop, noted with satisfaction that I was finally getting my damned bike out of his domain...and stepped up to the tractor... ... ... and noticed the cigar-shaped turds resting on the pilot's seat. "Hmpffff," he said. He just picked them up with his bare hands, and threw them outside on the driveway! Thinking nothing of it, he fired up his dream machine, backed out and ran over the turds, and then took off  down the driveway to grab a round bail and go feed cattle! I suppose that when you're a farmer, you're gonna get shit on your hands (and worse). Who wants to get crap on their work gloves, right? Anyways...I felt led down. Why, if I had crapped on it I would have been tied into a chair and beaten to death with a lead pipe! Go figure.
When Mom and Pop retired from farm life and moved into the city UW decided he had no further use for them and moved out. Last I heard he had moved in with a little girl and her family that lived down the street. When their cat was repossessed by a little girl, they just shrugged and let it go. I personally think that letting that homicidal slasher into an innocent family with women and children was criminally negligent but apparently the fur bag behaved himself. When the family moved away, UW went with them.
All that is 30+ light years ago. When I moved out we had cats of our own and now they are long gone too. We have dogs now and I love them with all my heart...but there are still days when I miss the cats. They are the gods of bastidry and mischief - which, in small doses - keeps us young.

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