A Close Encounter of the Furious Kind

Leaning sideways to grab the phone as it rang, I banged my head against an open cupboard door. As I picked up the phone, I let loose a string of colorful words capable of making a pirate blush. Immersed in my attempts to toss a handful of change into the swear jar, I distractedly listened to my girlfriend on the other end of the line asking something about a cat. Missing the jar, I mumbled several choice words obligating myself to yet another financial donation to the nearly overflowing repository. Completely lost in the moment, I struggled to toss my remaining change in the jar as I heard myself responding “yeah, yeah, sounds good,” to the ongoing conversation. Hanging up the phone, I continued about my business blithely unaware of the sequence of events just set into motion.

When my girlfriend arrived home, she was carrying a cat carrier and there were some mighty unpleasant sounds emanating from inside. Much to my surprise, I discovered our earlier conversation was about taking ownership of a friends full grown Siamese cat. An abrupt movement from the cat carrier unfortunately seized my full attention moments prior to my girlfriend commenting about the cat deserving a name similar to Furious George. Crouching down in front of the carrier, oblivious to her comment, I strained to peer inwards. A cloud of ominous darkness shrouded the contents from view. Feeling a strange sensation tingling down my spine, I was yet to fully realize the burning eyes of death were squarely focused upon me.

Edging my face ever closer to the motionless cage, I found no signs of life. Foolishly opening the door, I was soon to be greeted with a whirlwind of teeth and razorblades. Furious George, consisting of what most certainly must have been a cross between a bobcat and wolverine, sprang forth from the carrier as if possessed by the Devil himself. Madly scratching and clawing, Furious George unleashed a level of anger unimaginable by mankind. Within mere seconds, my arms were covered with scores of scratch and bite marks. Having momentarily satisfied its blood lust, Furious George tore across the room with its whip like tail pointing straight back. Disappearing behind the couch, its snarling continued to echo about making one think a den of lions had taken up residence in the living room.

Deciding it would be best to allow Furious George a little decompression time, we quickly scurried past the beasts temporary den of doom, fleeing into the safety of our bedroom. Slowly, the snarling subsided, leaving the house in an eerie silence. Peeking into the living room, we cautiously set about exploring every nook and cranny looking for Furious George. Successfully vanishing into some hidden fold in space, the beast was no where to be found. Confused by the total absence of Furious George, we opted to wait for the cats hunger to bring it out from hiding. My only hope being that its diet consisted of cat food and nothing more exotic such as human flesh.

As the evening wore on, I meandered into the kitchen to prepare supper. Intending to find a pan for cooking, I grasped the handle of the accursed cupboard door where I banged my head earlier. A chill ran down my spine as a muffled growl reverberating near by. Not having learned my lesson from the previous cat carrier incident, I opened the door only to be greeted with a razor sharp set of claws slicing towards my face. Furious George backing deeper into the cupboard, continued swiping angrily in the air to demonstrate its lethal clawing power. With primordial directives now in overdrive, my fight or flight instinct welled up inside. Grabbing the thickest pair of gloves in the house, it was time to set about extracting Furious George from its fortress of fury. Sounding like a dozen feral cats waging mortal combat in an iron cage death match, the beast screeched out a series of ear splitting yowls. Seizing the twisting ball of fur with both hands, I dashed for the cat carrier as it struggled to slash at my exposed vital parts. With all four feet clawing wildly, Furious George put forth an attempt to move higher up the food chain. Barely managing to force the beast into the cage, I slammed the door shut. Charging head long into the closed door, its paw shot outwards in one final attempt to extract a pound of flesh.

Having successfully trapped Furious George, we decided it was best to return the beast to its original owner. I recall wishing I had a “return to sender” label to place on the cage as I watched my girlfriend carry the cage towards the car. With both arms fully extended outwards holding the cat carrier at a distance, she nervously strapped the cage in the front passenger seat. Even with the car door closed, one could hear murderous sounds filling the air. As she departed on the trip to return Furious George to the original beast master, I breathed a sigh of relief. Finding my way to the medicine cabinet, it was time to apply copious amounts of of hydrogen peroxide to clean the swelling skin tattoos the beast carved into my arms. When my girlfriend returned, she laughed about the owner refusing to believe such a loving kitty would ever attempt to scratch anyone. I shivered briefly, offering silent condolences for the next unfortunate victim who would succumb to the torturous nature of the Jekyll and Hyde cat.