Unsweetened Revenge

Unsweetened Revenge

It was a dark and stormy night when I found myself smack in front of the house where Harold and I had lived for twenty-two years. What an opportunity to see what Harold was up to after my demise.

I never believed in reincarnation. Then I died and came back as a cat. How ironic. I never cared much for cats.

Harold, would he be called my ex-husband or what? Harold loved his cat, Beano, a fat male who considered me his personal maid. Beano wanted in. He wanted to go out. He wanted his food bowls filled. His treats dispensed on his schedule. He left wads of hair on my beige couch and carpet. Scooping out his stinky cat box made me nauseated. He brought in fleas from outside which had Harold running to Petco to get some $65.00 medication to squirt on Beano’s neck. Was feline rebirth some kind of divine intervention to teach me to be more tolerant?

I ran toward the back of the house out of the wind and rain to access the cat door Harold had installed. I slipped in and looked around.

My spring green kitchen was now in shades of gray. To my left was Beano’s cat dish heaped full of fish flavored Meow Mix, which smelled surprisingly good. I daintily stepped up for a nibble and was ambushed from behind. Harold had insisted that we not de-claw Beano even though our pet used everything but the scratching post for sharpening his nails. I felt his sharp talons piercing my back. I yowled and turned on him. Beano jumped to one side, a bully with no real cat courage. I ran at him, hissing and spitting. Holding my ground, I heard a woman’s voice. I knew that voice, Lola Hayrick of short shorts fame from across the street.

“Harry, what is that awful racket?” Lola leaned around the corner and peered at us, her overly made-up eyes widening.

Harold came running into the kitchen. I was temporarily distracted, putting one and one together. Beano seized this opening to pounce on me. Fur flew and then a stench billowed out around us. I backed off.

“Aak, what is that smell?” Lola pinched her nostrils together and waved her hand in front of her.

“Well, ah…Sandy and I didn’t name him Beano for nothing,” Harold said, “Go outside, Beano, old boy.” Beano rushed out on command, something he never did for me.

“Do you know whose cat this other one is?” Lola asked, still holding her nose.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“I don’t see a collar,” she said. “This kitty sure is pretty, such big green eyes and all that gold and ivory fur mixed together.”

I felt my back arching and a rumbly purr noise started involuntarily. Wait a minute! Lola was over here in my house and Harold did not seem to be grieving one bit.

“I’ve always wanted a cat, honey,” Lola said, her voice artificially sweet like the saccharin I used to put in my coffee. She bent over and petted me while “Harry Honey” scoped out her barely covered derriere. “Do you think I could just take her home with me?”

I could have bit her but maybe she wouldn’t take me home with her. I was plotting revenge even then.

“Well, yes, I guess you could. Maybe put a lost cat notice in the Nickel Ads. If no one claims it, then your conscience would be clear.”

“Conscience?” I thought to myself, “this woman has no conscience.’ Even though I was sort of dead, Harry and Lola seemed way too comfortable to have become bosom buddies in the one month I had been gone.

She picked me up and I hooked my claws on her tight t-shirt and kneaded it until it was thoroughly snagged.

“Oh, look, she likes me already,” The woman did not have a clue. Ruining one item of cheap clothing was just a small preview of the mayhem to come. I had learned all the catty chicanery from Beano, hopefully minus the unladylike gas attacks. She put me down and I had the cat food all to myself. However, I choked on a nugget when she reached up and planted an X-rated kiss on Harold’s willing mouth.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” she said to the drooling Harold. “Got to take my new kitty home.”

At Lola’s house, I ensconced myself on mounds of pillows on her couch.

“Oh, how cute, I’ve got to run get my camera.”

I peed on the lightest pillow and then scratched the silk into ribbons. When Lola came back and saw the stain, she put her camera down and snatched me up.

“Oh, you poor baby, you are scared coming to this new place and I have not bought you a litter box yet. I will drive over to Petco and get you one. They have yummy cat food and treats, a soft bed, and catnip toys.” She put her face against my fur. “You are so snuggly. That is what I will call you, Snuggles.” If I had done any grooming that day, I could have hacked up a hair ball, but these things take time. I continued to think of myself as Sandy.

After I heard her car pull out of the driveway, I went on a reconnaissance mission to see what sites I would target first. Lola was not the only home wrecker. There were curtains for climbing, rugs ready for vomiting, and glass and China figurines to topple.

After two weeks of malicious mischief whenever Lola sneaked across the street, I was taken to the vet.

“I just don’t understand, Doctor Hubert, Snuggles is so well behaved when I’m home but the minute I leave at night, she’s positively destructive.”

“How long are you usually gone?”

“Ah, all night.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re one of those graveyard workers.”

Lola ducked her head. “Um, sort of.”

“Your new kitty is just missing you and is letting you know. I might suggest confining her to one room with a litter box when you go out.”

I did not like this veterinarian. First imprisonment, probably next food rationing.

During the day though, I had Lola running back and forth letting me in and out. I streaked across the street to Harold’s and harassed old Beano by poking my head through the cat door and pulling back as soon as he came charging after me. The door bonked him on the head every time, but he never learned. I relieved myself repeatedly in Harold’s flower beds where he would be gardening and chewed on his beloved plants.

My life was better than I thought it might be. I did not have to go to work anymore. I did not cook or clean. I was well fed and waited on while I practiced the one hundred and ten distinct cries that indicated my needs. I could sleep until noon or 5:30 p.m. and usually did. I spent some of my waking hours either grooming my magnificent coat or scheming new naughty tricks to play on ludicrous Lola. She still believed I was her “Sweetie Pie Snuggles.”

However, the day came when I was pushed beyond the boundaries of endurance and my true self was revealed. That morning, she breezed in from her nightly tryst and as she poured food in my bowl, she said, “Sandy would be rolling over in her grave if she knew how long Harold and I had been carrying on before she died.”

I made no attempt to sheath my claws. Yowling, I jumped on her and did as much flesh tearing damage as I could.

“Snuggles,” she screamed, “What has come over you?” I ran to the door. She opened it and I sprinted into the street. I did not see the car. cat-splat.

When I awoke, I looked down at my body, long and skinny with ugly gray fur. I was paying for not practicing good kitty karma. I had slid further down the life chain. Out of the corner of my beady black eyes, I saw Beano barreling toward me. I did what any rat would do. I ran for my life.