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Tuesday, May 28, 2024

Classic "man versus beast" tales feature bears or sharks. Mine features a cat named Monkey.

Left behind by a cat-breeding former neighbor, the tom was a frequent visitor to our house. Starving for affection, Monkey would squeeze through ajar doors and surprise my father in the bathroom.

"Someone get this damn cat out of here so I can wipe my ass!" he would shout.

These intrusions were especially unwelcome to our own house cat, Rajah. Her valiant attempts to defend the homeland only yielded nasty scars and missing patches of fur. Concerned for my cat's safety and my father's rectal hygiene, I decided to intervene.

Scaring Monkey was counterproductive - he'd just hide under beds. Giving him the cold shoulder was equally useless - he'd just climb up on it. When I (jokingly) suggested euthanasia, Rajah, covered in gauze like an assault victim on the witness stand, seemed delighted with the prospect of lethal injection.

Finding new owners proved futile, and I couldn't turn Monkey over to those "death panel" animal shelters.

The humanitarian thing to do, I decided, was to relocate Monkey to a new neighborhood.

When I tried stuffing Monkey in Rajah's cardboard veterinarian box, he sensed the trap, hissed, scratched my hands, and bolted.

Later, wearing protective oven mitts, I lured Monkey in by speaking gently, tossed him in the box, loaded it in the back of my Jeep, and peeled out.

My heart beat frantically as I sped down the highway. While Monkey pawed at the box's air holes in attempt to escape, I visualized the next morning's front page: My perplexed mug shot dangling from the headline, "Kitty-napper caught red-pawed." I stopped in a charming neighborhood only to discover a small hole clawed in the side of the box. No Monkey.

Terrified, I turned forward and saw the cat perched on the dashboard, hissing inches from my face. Within seconds I was halfway down the street, wondering if cats could drive stick.

But when I returned, Monkey was gone.

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Although Rajah and my father are now content, the guilt still haunts me. The beast is gone, but somehow, he won.

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