Chapter 3

Yesterday was a wonderful day. I think we made out quite well, thanks to my brilliant idea.

And Satch's well planned execution. Fine, I'll admit it.

John (the guy who I share my house with) fell against that cactus the other day, and he was so pissed off at it that the next day he tore it out of the ground and threw it into the alley in anger. Don't know what that proved, since he got a bunch more spines in his hands as a result. It was pretty funny. And now he has a big gap in his (used-to-look-cool-until-he-got-mad) cactus garden. His hands are too swollen to type (or do anything else with, heh heh), so he's just stewing on the couch. He tried typing with one finger, but he just wasn't up to the challenge. At least he left the machine on for me.

But his cactus toss made a positive difference in my day. Between Satch, Burl, Tort and me, we managed to drag the hapless plant over to the gate behind the enemy's house. It's one of those flat-pad cacti, see, and this one has spines the length of cat whiskers on it. Vicious.

So we laid this thing right out past their gate, yellow whiskers sticking up.

And then we waited. Tum Tum TUM!!

We'd decided Satch and I would be the bait. So we watched through the missing piece of tree in their gate, and after what seemed forever the two idiots came out into their yard.

Now Satch, being the observant male that he is, had noticed that these kids run around without those stupid foot coverings that most humans wear.

And that's where I grudgingly acknowledge that maybe his plan was possibly a little bit better than mine. Mine involved green pumpkins and a thermocouple and jet fuel and some other stuff, which Satch thought was rather, um, impractical to find, let alone implement to the exacting specifications I'd drawn up in the alley dust.

Whatever. He's just fucking lazy sometimes.

So when we see these two dimwits tearing out of the house, Satch starts singing through the gate, and I join in. It was a beautiful duet. I got a little teary-eyed even.

Not.

What is it with humans and music, anyway? I finally figured out that the noise John has coming out from his typing machine when he writes is actually what he considers to be music! And they throw shit at us when we sing at night!? He has this wall full of boxes with little round mirrors in them that he selects from. Unconditionally, the stuff he listens to is downright terrible. It sounds like people are being tortured to death under his desk. Next time John has that 'music' on, I'm going to pee all over his collection of mirrors. See if he touches them after that.

I think not.

So anyway. We're singing Satch's newest composition into the yard, and then the enemy hears us. They come charging towards the gate and we start a moderate run down the alley. The gate flies open and...

Heh heh. You can guess the rest, but I'm going to tell it anyway. Unfortunately the little fat kid was slower and stopped short of the painful surprise, but his brother (I guess it's his brother — they look equally stupid so they're probably related) stomped fully onto the biggest cactus pad.

You should have seen him cry. Like a big dog when you scratch their nose good. Wuss.

Then the fat brother started laughing. That was until the thin brother pushed him against the wall pretty hard, and then he was crying too. Wuss.

A few hours later we peeked into the yard, and the thin kid was limping around, and the fat kid had a bandage on his head.

I have only once seen Satch laugh harder than he did right then. The time I saw him laugh harder was a few hours later, when I asked him to lick my breasts. All eight of them.

After ten minutes of rolling around in pain from the laughter, he finally managed a word.

"What!?"

I told him about what I had read on John's typing machine. He thought it was pretty funny. He didn't try it though, no matter how much I tried to convince him. Every time he even considered it, he'd start laughing. Fool.

Oh well.

So we have gotten a little revenge. Unfortunately, though, Burl reported that he got a another few rocks thrown at him this morning. He was far enough away to dodge them, but it seems that the enemies haven't learned their lesson yet. We have more planning to do...

I'm still working on getting Satch to move in with me, at least until we take care of these assholes down the street.

"I still haven't heard anything to make me want to live there," he said this morning. "You know I'm not the settling down type, Cat."

Ouch. That kind of hurt.

"OK, remember a few weeks ago when you went to take a nap in your favorite spot behind Tuff's shed?" I said.

Satch sniffed loudly, but I knew full well he remembered.

"And then when you woke up," I continued, "and one of Burl's turds was stuck to your leg fur?" I couldn't help but add a snigger as Satch glared at me. "That will simply never happen when you live in the house. No one will shit in your bed."

"Well, that was a one time deal," Satch protested. "Burl was wasted the night before and had no idea where he was taking his crap. He's since laid off the anti-freeze."

"And he's moved on to sniffing the vats in John's closet. I saw him a few hours ago."

"Paint?!" Satch exclaimed, twitching his tail. "Oh, fuck... ! He'll never learn, will he?"

John is so funny. A few hours ago he came home from wherever he goes, and he was like, "I have a surprise for you, Cat!"

So he brings in a plant. And it's a catnip plant, no less. So he puts it outside on the patio. I know, a dream come true! I found Satch as quick as we could and we made short work of it.