Biological Warfare and the Cat

My cat wants me dead.

Seriously. I may be being slightly dramatic, but she is definitely plotting something or other. When I get home from work I try to stroke her, and she runs away, or tries to bite me but in the evenings when she has tired of chasing birds and tormenting the squirrels, she makes her strange cooing noise, gets on my bed and head butts me in the face so that she can get a tummy rub. But as soon as she has had enough, she bites me again. It’s like cat Russian roulette.

Biological warfare (BW), also known as germ warfare, is the deliberate use of disease-causing biological agents such as protozoa, fungi, bacteria, protists, or viruses, to kill or incapacitate humans, animals or plants. Biological weapons (often referred to as “bio-weapons” or “bio-agents”) are living organisms or replicating entities (virus) that reproduce or replicate within their host victims. (Wikipedia)

I think my cat has been on Wikipedia. She has recently invoked a biological warfare campaign on me, and to be honest I’m not really sure what I have done to deserve it. When her rightful owners (father and step mother) are out I feed her, give her water, let her drink my tea when im done with it and permit her to sleep on my bed and not get locked in the kitchen. We reside in a generally harmonious way, so I don’t know what I have done to upset her, but seriously, she is plotting against me.

It all began with the poor dead mouse. I don’t particularly like mice, but I especially felt peturbed when a mouse turns up, dead on the hallway floor, missing one leg.

Then, a mere two days later there was the tick incident. I don’t know much about ticks, but I know that if you have one, this is bad. So when she got one, I tried to pull it out with the tick device, and she bit, scratched and generally tried to kill me. But I got it out, it waved at me (didn’t think that it was actually a beastly bug and it would still be alive, after feeding on the kitten of death), so I stomped on it. Second time in 48 hours that I had to bleach everywhere she may have been, in case of dead mouse or wavy bug germs.

So when I got home yesterday, my father informed me that the kitten had fleas. I then had to Hoover my room, change my bed and Hoover the mattress, and flea spray the whole place (please note, flea spray is basically dust in a can, or so my lungs think). I had to do the carpet, the curtains, the fabric lamp shade, the throws and anything else I could find that a flea might be lurking in.

I strongly feel that she refers to me among her catty friends as the ‘host victim’. Does anyone want grumpy old lady who has been trapped in the body of a cute little kibby? I’ve got one going!!