Heh heh heh!
Mum's been paranoid for as long as I can remember. Ever since I had the fight with the garbage truck, and ended up in that horrible stinky elephant hospital, she doesn't like me venturing outside alone. Thinks I'll get into all kinds of scrapes - brawls with neighbourhood cats, stalking feathered friends and playing chicken with cars. So I've pretended that I'm psychologically traumatised -- agoraphobic even -- and prefer the comfort and security of our house.
I had them fooled! Every time dad carried me outside and put me on the ground, I ran back inside. They decided I was a real scaredy cat - but I was just lulling them into a sense of complacency until I was ready to make my move.
I watched and waited. Prowled and prodded.
Finally, the other night, I nudged the screen door and it opened. The smell of the crisp night air and the song of the crickets beckoned me to freedom.
Prison break! I slipped out into the cool embrace of the night, my heart pounding that any moment I would be busted and would hear the familiar shout 'Dorkus get back inside' or the annoying hand clap which signals I'm in trouble.
It didn't happen and I ventured further and further into the night. Aah! The smell of nature was intoxicating. I breathed in deep and rolled in the grass, and switched on my night vision to look out for supper.
Then the voices started. My escape route had been discovered. (Knew I should've closed that door). Distressed voices filled the air. 'Dorkus, where are you?' and I heard the soft footsteps in the grass. I crouched down and didn't answer. I knew that their inferior human eyes would not spot me in the dark especially if I didn't give away my position by meowing. If I kept quiet, I could buy some time. I wasn't ready to give up my adventure. So after calling and tracking around the backyard for five minutes, the oldies gave up. I heard mum declare, 'He'll come home when he wants to.'
Well, I wasn't sure about that. I hadn't had the chance to explore my neighbourhood in daylight, let alone in the seductive night air. Maybe I could find myself a girlfriend.
I set the cats next door yowling but scampered off because mum would be alerted to my position. I checked the perimeter of the yard, sniffed around for vermin and enjoyed the rare luxury of freedom. Mate, this felt so good. I could stay out all night and go home for breakfast.
But then I started to shiver. It was chilly and I thought of my beautiful warm fire. I shivered again and ran to the back door, meowing so that mum would let me in. I'll leave the night hunting to the poor feline sods who don't have their own personal fire.
'Where've you been?' they asked when the opened the door, and proceeded to pull all the grass clippings off my fur, and checked me for ticks. I kept quiet. I'm not about to give away my nocturnal secrets. It's my adventure.
I've been surfing blogs for a while now, and I've noticed that other bloggers have t-shirts and stuff, and I figured that I'm a famous cat in the catosphere, maybe I could have my own merchandise.
Mum had been making stuff and putting it on this site called Cafepress. She cuts out words and sticks them on paper, and calls it collage poetry. I was getting a bit miffed off. Lying next to her, watching her upload all these 'poems' to the computer and make t-shirts and mousepads. And so I nudged her, and said, 'Mum, you're missing the point! It's not the clever stuff that wins Funniest Videos, it's the cute animal stuff - and here I am!'
So I'd like to announce the opening of Diary of a Mad Cat store. It's part of Mum's Chickollage shop, click on the link and check out my section.
