Thursday, October 22, 2009

The non duel

SEC files: the pre-seeing eye cat tale Story:True. Names changed to keep my ass out of jail. Fortunately, the idiot has since moved.

Shortly after the little bastard stole my heart, he got sick on me and had to go to a big-city animal clinic for radiation therapy. Best grand I ever spent. This was about 6-7 years ago. He was still pretty much in the feral stage, although I had gotten him settled down a bit.

I was taking him for a walk on his leash regularly, and this * down the street thought it funny to let his collie out to chase kitty up a tree. This, of course, left me stuck holding a leash in one hand and fending off a 75 pound collie with the other.

I admit, it was funny the first time.

I bought a can of pepper spray, plan was to give the poor pooch a quick squirt and hose down the owner with the rest of the can. That night, I had a couple too many beers while watching TV with kitty on my lap. Kitty and I both woke up feeling not really 100% because kitty had been breathing my fumes.

You don't want to mess with a hungover cat. Anyway, we went for our morning walk, and as usual, the * let the collie out, but I was ready. Or thought I was. I unhooked kitty's leash and put him in the tree and got the shock of my life! Kitty jumped out of the tree and charged the collie!

It didn't last very long, Kitty tore the collie up––bad. REAL bad. Last I saw of the dog was watching him run while being chased by one pissed off 7 1/2 pound cat.

The dog's owner came flying out of the house raising all sorts of hell, and as he was carrying on, kitty returned and added fuel to the fire by sharpening his claws on the guy's mailbox post. I hooked kitty back on to his leash.

End of round one.

Late that afternoon, the owner came to my door babbling incoherently about having to cough up $400+ at the vet's office. Seems the collie's snout took quite a beating, seeing there wasn't much meat on it. Every slash kitty had made was to the bone and required stitches.

In a way, I felt bad for the dog. Anyway, the idiot babbled something about 'demanding satisfaction'. I knew he meant restitution, but, being a First Class Clown myself, I decided to take him at his word. I told him to show up Saturday AM at 10:30 with a reliable male witness.

Nothing like purposly misunderstanding someone.

He showed right on time. I came out of the house with my hair slicked back, wearing a ruffled front tuxedo shirt with mu moustache trimmed to a pencil-thin, ala Errol Flynn. Then I slapped him with a glove and offered him his choice of swords or pistols. His 'second' whipped out a cell phone.


MY second got to the cruiser first and assured him no weapons were out.

The LEO seemed both amused and aggravated at the same time and told the pair of us to 'take it to West Virginia'. "Those hillbillies eat that stuff up," he said. "Either that, or take it to the magistrate. If the dog wasn't on a leash, I KNOW what the magistrate's going to say."

I asked the cop if he's referee a fistfight, he agreed with a grin, if both parties insisted. The idiot skulked away. Took off like a shot.

As he was leaving, the LEO told me that my pencil-thin didn't make me look like Errol Flynn. He said it made me look like a pudgy little Italian organ grinder. end of round 2.

The cowardly bastard waited until I was at work a week or so later and demanded the money from my wife. The wife told him I'd just spent all of our money on dueling swords,'Which he's never gonna use because you chickened out!' He left. End of round 3

When I was home from work, I shot in a CMP match. On my way home, I stopped at Rosa's greasy spoon for lunch along with a couple former marines. In walks the *. "You gonna write me a check for that money you owe me," he boomed. " The only thing I'm writing is the Marine Corps puttin' tha cat in for the Navy Cross, after all, he whipped your 75 pound fleabag!"

Almost everyone in the place bust out laughing, and a former marine said:"That's right, put him in for a Navy Cross because if you put him in for a Silver Star, those chairwarmers in Washington will bump it down to a good conduct medal!" GALES of laughter. The * fled.

The following day I was trying to get out of mowing the lawn. A little kid from across the street came by and asked: Are you weally going to twy get your wittle kitty a medow?"

I decided on the spot, why not, beats mowing. So I went downtown and argued with a major for the paperwork, and it took me a couple of days to get it all completed. I sent it into HQ USMC, and, as I expected, got no official answer.

But about a week later, I found 3 small packages in the mail box with no return addresses, and greater DC postmarks. 2 homemade medals from the hobby shop, and one can of gourmet cat food with a 'Semper Fi' sticker on it. Kitty doesn't like to wear his medals, but sure ate the gourmet cat food!

The pepper spray got used about 2 months later. I walked into Clancy's and he was likkered up a bit and came at me with threats. I quietly goaded him on and when he tried to grab my shirt, I hosed the bastard down with the entire can. Clancy threw him out, and the next thing I heard of him was a couple years later when someone told me he moved.

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