Where I Nab Some Pussy

As I may or may not have mentioned, we have several cats running around our place that we kind of adopted. They were feral when M started feeding them (she's such a bleeding heart about animals) but 2 of the four quickly became more docile, practically domesticated. One was still extremely wary and the fourth was still bat-shit insane.

We managed to capture the 3 that were getting used to being around humans and the lady who acted as our realtor picked them up and went and got them fixed. That left us with the completely feral kitty. I mean, this cat wouldn't get within 4 feet of us and would run away if you looked at it cross.

Sunday night M texted me while I was out grabbing dinner and said that she had the cat trapped in the shed and should she leave it in there. Well, duhhhhh, yes. We called the realtor and when she called back that night she told me to capture the cat and she would take it in on Monday morning. Since it was already 10:30 at night, I decided to get up early in the morning and capture the cat. No problem right? Here's where the tail (yes Verbal, that was intentional) gets funny.

I roll out of bed @ 5:30 and I start to gather the stuff I'm going to use. I had planned on putting on my leather work gloves and wrapping up my arms in towels so that when I managed to nab the cat I didn't get shredded. Well M immediately shit on my idea, saying it was stupid. Thanks babe! Her suggestion was that I put on my good winter coat to go after the cat. I said that was an even stupider idea than what I had. We commence argue, then yell, back and forth for the next 10 minutes before she finally agrees with me. Good way to start. *

I trudge out to the shed and lock myself in to go after the cat. My plan is to just snatch (*tee-hee*...snatch) her and stuff her in the cat carrier. Let the games begin! The cat is hiding behind our woodpile so I make my first grab at her. This cat, literally, climbs the fucking wall and shoots to the other side of the shed. This cat was faster than the fucking Flash. Nothing but a gray blur.

We go back and forth at this for a while before she ends up hiding underneath the treadmill we have stored out there. I try a couple times to grab her, without success, before I finally manage to get a hold of one of her legs and start to drag her out from under it. I couldn't get my other hand on her quick enough and she escaped. But not before giving me a solid bite on my index at the big knuckle. Through the leather gloves. It still smarts.

After that she ran behind the woodpile again. This is how I get bit the second time. On the opposite hand. Oh, I forgot to mention, M was no where near this little drama trying to help, except for the occasional time she would come peak in the window and offer this helpful advice as she hears me cussing and raging, "Don't get mad at the kitty and hurt her! It isn't her fault!" Super, thanks for the tip! Fuck me.

We go round and round about the wood pile and the treadmill a couple times more. Again I make a lunge for her while she's behind the woodpile. This time I end up taking a branch stub in the ribcage. It was a TK-like display of grace, agility and athleticism. And it hurt like a motherfucker. There's no bruise or anything but it hurts when I laugh, cough or sneeze. So it's uncomfortably similar to when I cracked my ribs. At this point, I'm out...I've been out there 45 minutes, close to be late to work and the score, for those keeping track is:
Cat: 2 Bites, still free.
Me: Potentially cracked ribs, no captured cat.

As I relate this story to various people during the day I'm greeted with laughs and ridicule, deservedly so. At this point I'm bound and determined to catch this little fucking hell spawn. I come up with the brilliant idea to make my own animal control lasso out of some PVC and rope. I call a buddy and con him into helping me at round two of V vs Stupid Cat.



Last night my buddy and I head into the den of the beast after I gear up (I'm wishing now I would have had him take a picture of the get up...just picture the Stay Puft guy made up of bath towels). Said beast is no where to be found. Our realtor had stopped by that morning to see if I had trapped the cat, so I thought maybe she had let it out. Turns out the gdamn cat is hiding up inside the guts of the treadmill. We have to upend it and partially disassemble the treadmill to get her out.

After she's out I manage to wrangle her in short order with the homemade lasso. I lift her out from behind the wood pile. Let's say at this point the cat is...a bit angry/spastic. It's spinning out at the end of the lasso in a what looks to be a nightmare fit of epilepsy. I hand the pole to my buddy B and go in to grab the cat. At which point she squirts out of the lasso and jumps onto a window ledge (nice work B, way to hold it tight!). I just say fuck it and make lunge for the cat and end up grabbing it around the body. It was every bit of what you would think handling a lunatic, feral cat would be like. But we managed to get the little bitch shoved into the cat carrier! "Mission Pussy Snatch" (see what I did there?) completed sir! We had some well earned booze after our foray. I mean, we showed that little terror right? I mean, it only took two grown men. After it had thoroughly abused me that morning.

Here's a picture of the little bastard.

Looks happy, doesn't she?

* - She told me later that she also started her period, so maybe that was the cause of some of the morning's fireworks.