Road To Portland: Part 25: Ali The Cat Knows The Score

Tyson, a high-strung cat, was having a bad day. Ali, a cat who never gave a shit about anything, was doing fine. Tyson was reacting to Janice, who owned both of them (presuming anyone truly owns a cat). Tyson was convinced the world was going mad.

Ali laid on the back of the couch; happily calculating odds. He was reasonably sure Tyson would wind up drop kicked down the hallway sometime in the next few hours. Nothing made Ali happier than seeing Tyson get drop kicked. It happened more often than you’d think.

Janice spent the hours waiting for his Grandmother’s dreaded arrival examining the inner turmoil of a shattering mind. In particular, he could see patterns in his, or her, or… its journal. He (because he felt like a he at the moment) was taking a righteous dump in an unlit bathroom while holding a flashlight and flipping thought his innermost thoughts as scrawled in the journal. He was coming to a conclusion.

He, or she, or it… was a lunatic.

He’d had suspicions all along. Some of it he could explain away. For example, half the men at the gym were afraid of him and virtually anyone he met in the ring decided another hobby, such as gardening, was better than martial arts. That could be called dominance on his part and was an excusable career hazard.  On the other hand, there was the time he set fire to his toaster because it had talked back to him. There’s just no way to make that look sane.

Inexplicably, he had issues with most of his home appliances. He had a tendency to either smash them or throw them out the window. This was because the little assholes were plotting against him! He tried to remember to keep the windows open but tended to forget. He was on a first name basis with a window repair place. It got expensive!

The diminishing but still logical side of his brain knew that heaving blenders was unwise. The stronger half said “it has deliberately mismanaged my protein shake and must die!” The guys from the window repair company shrugged and made bank.

Ali the cat knew the score. In fact, he was keeping count. The blue bottles tended to send appliances airborne. They were the best! The green ones tended to cause loud bouts of uncontrolled weeping. They were annoying. The ones with handwritten labels might do anything. One should never turn one’s back on those. The white ones tended to result in epic stench from the bathroom but little else.

Ali estimated the morning count at 4 blue, 3 green, and 7 white, but no hand labeled ones. It wasn’t yet noon. If he could maneuver Tyson underfoot and trigger an event it might be a good day.

Janice wandered out of the bathroom with a pale look on his (currently “his”) face. He idly pet Ali who purred pleasantly. Meanwhile he dropped six heaping scoops of a bluish powder into a blender. He followed up with a pound of watery, organic, free trade, sugar free, gluten free, Greek yogurt. Janice had carefully selected this product based on several factors, none of which involved flavor. Reflecting on the fact that yogurt tasted like something a snail would excrete after being force fed wallpaper paste, Janice added half a cantaloupe; rind and all. Ali noticed the powder came from an old Folgers can with a handwritten label(!) and faded into the background. Meanwhile Tyson, failing to heed the hidden signs, rubbed against his master’s legs.

Still scrutinizing the journal, Janice activated the blender. Yesterday’s entries read:

0530: 63 squats, 2 miles, plus regimen one. Feeling good.

0545: Life has no meaning. I am going to shave my head.

0600: My head is already shaved. When did I start wearing a wig?

0615: My nipples itch.

0930: Buy a new lamp.

Janice glanced at the corner where a broken lamp was crumpled beneath a lamp shaped divot in the drywall. It continued reading.

1215: Skipped class. Texted my prof I was absent due to oppression. I think I’ll get an A.

1216: I have the hots for the pizza delivery man. But I can’t eat a pizza.

1330: Still crying. Not sure if I crave sex or pizza.

1400: Buy a new bread machine.

1430: Forget it. Gluten is death.

1500: Ordered two bread machines on Amazon. Everything is hopeless anyway.

Janice shook his head. It didn’t look good.

If you think it’s just plain wrong when home appliances conspire against you, feel free to click below.


About AdaptiveCurmudgeon

Adaptive Curmudgeon is handsome, brave, and wise.
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One Response to Road To Portland: Part 25: Ali The Cat Knows The Score

  1. This is gettin’ weird.

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