Examining my options
The Mooks and I are playing another battle of wits and I made a huge error in thinking they were both a pair of tards.
Firstly, after the me-me-me of Mook A's post-examination and pre-operative hysterics, I decided that the focus in this house was shifting radically and dangerously away from its rightful place: me. So I had to do something about it.
Two days ago, Mook A, in one of his usual—or at least usual for the time being—funks laced with pissed-offedness, took me for a walk. We did the usual alleys and such and for some odd reason they were loaded with cats. Two in particular. One is my sworn enemy and is a real junkyard cat: feeding off garbage, small animals and its own fleas and pustules. I hate the motherfucker and, to no one's surprise, it hates me. But in this little conflict, I do have an ally in A who despises alley cats (or, rather, says he despises the owners who consign these poor animals to their fate...but I think he just hates cats). Anyway, the last time we encountered the beast, A was almost going to let me at him in an effort to rid the area of this particular pest. But things changed swiftly when the Thing From Hell stood its ground over its pile of garbage and looked like it was going to tear me to shreds. A dragged me away (and I was a little grateful for that). But this time, when I saw it, I'd had enough and went at it. A yanked me back so hard and bellowed at me (as he is wont to do so often these days) and on we went. That's when we met the second cat. Now this is a real housecat and I find domesticated cats less annoying and, let me say this (though you must never repeat it) fascinating. This cat also stood it's ground but in a "Come on over here and sniff my snatch, big boy" kind o' way. So I went over and, Dog forgive me, we did a little flirty thing. First it was nose to nose, then a little hot breath in each other's ear and Lord only know what would have happened next, but it is most likely prohibited by the laws of man and animal. The cat's owner—a little old lady (as these owners are wont to be) came out and A, looking a little guilty (like when he watches porn and B walks into the room), dragged me away.
Now all this dragging me away was grating on my last fucking nerve. So on we went. And on and on and on. I hadn't had a shit during our last walk, you see, and A wouldn't take me back in until I relieved myself. But I had other plans...a Master Plan. Finally he gave up, brought me home and went out onto the balcony for a smoke.
And I shit on the carpet.
Well didn't the poor ailing fucker recover his strength in a hurry! He came at me with a fury that was clearly of the unhinged variety, grabbed me by the scruff (not my favourite form of travel) and showed me what I had done like it was something altogether new and unfamiliar to me. Then he threw me in my bed.
Now look, I'm no imbecile. I stayed in the bed. The point was made. I knew, even as A was cleaning up the mess and invoking the names of all the saints and deities, that he was also figuring out that I had been in the shadows for too long and it was time for me to re-assume my rightful place on the throne of this little kingdom...I needed lovin'.
Except, that night as he discussed the "catastrophe" with Mook B, he had figured it out. "It's not about love it's clearly about power and attention because of what I am going through and that he's excluded from it." Then, ominously, he added: "We cannot give in."
Well fuck...
Time to up the ante.
So, this morning I pissed on B's bed.
I was very sly about it. B was taking a little more time getting me out than usual and so it truly looked like an accident. But not to A. When B told him, later when A woke up, A roared at B: "I HOPE TO FUCK YOU PUNISHED HIM HARD!" B said he had, but in such a way that it was clear to A that his own version of hard punishment and B's were similar to a beating by a street thug and a horny ingenue's fan-slap. "He is doing it for attention!" A howled. B then muttered about taking a little longer to get me out and A cut him off, "NO! WE CANNOT FUCKING LIVE OUR LIVES FOR THIS FUCKING DOG ANYMORE!!! THOSE DAYS ARE FUCKING OVER!!!" Then he turned to me, picked me up and yelled so hard into my face that my hair flew back and my teeth rattled, "YOU!!! ARE!!! NOT!!! THE!!! BOSS!!!" I tried to lick his nose, which always turns him to mush, but he yanked back and added: "YOU GOT THAT???"
Er...my singed eyebrows and my eyes an inch deeper in my sockets from your fucking morning-breath suggest I do get it, asshole.
And now here we are. I tried to act up a little on my lunchtime walk with A just to see. Big mistake. He has no shame when it comes to shrieking at me in front of the neighbours or shaking me about to snap me out of "bad" behaviour. (B, on the other hand, let's me do damn near anything during a walk...suck-ah!)
In nine days there is the operation. Then we'll see who's weak and who's strong.
Sleep with one eye open, twathead.
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