PSYCHOTIC FELINE CANNONBALLS


I wonder, is it considered mentally sane and perfectly psychologically acceptable to get urges to give felines a hard kick whenever a person catches sight of one?

I was just mentioning it to De Quan a couple of weeks back after service on a particular Saturday night. And I was asking him whether does he feel the same way as I do. You know, the crazy urge and itching temptation to kick a cat - hard - from behind.
And the sweet guy mentioned vaguely something about pasting my pictures on the streets and sending a photo of me to the SPCA. How nice.

Now, to set the record straight, I generally DON'T dislike cats. More precisely put, it's the way they behave that somehow - strangely - never fails to trigger off something in me.

The way they lick their paws so sickeningly seductively. The way they snuggle up to the lamppost so disgustingly coyly. The way their eyes focus on you so eerily. And the way their sly meows sound so foxy and cunning.
Super teh, lah. In my opinion, it's worse than having a "stick-like-superglue" clingy girlfriend/boyfriend who perpetually and permanently latches onto you like a leech. Or like lianas coiling tightly around the trunk of trees. As if there is no tomorrow. As if the sun is going to explode in his/her face any moment. As if an enormous meteorite is hitting Earth soon.
Pesky. Disgusting. Corny. Too heavily dependent. And yes, frustrating and suffocating and irritating.

Not forgetting, what's so fun and interesting about a boring ball of yarn?
And I already think that having a bunch of 20-odd men running to and fro a big patch of grass and chasing after a useless ball is silly, hilarious, and irrational enough. Com'on!!! That ball is not even made of silver, much less gold!


Each time I catch sight of a cat - especially one that is either licking its paws or rolling around and stretching itself luxuriously out on the ground - my mind indulge in this crazy idea to sneak up behind it, deliver an unceremonious and merciless kick, and send it soaring gracefully through the air like a football. Really.

But of course, I've never carried out that act as of date. Because I'm not cruel. Because I'm very kind and benevolent and merciful and loving and gentle. And because there are people and witnesses around.

So, instead of putting my right foot down to practical use each time I see a cat, I would contend myself by allowing my hyper-imaginative brain cells imagine the cat soaring and zooming smoothly and comically through the air like a feline cannonball.

Guess I'm not taken to felines.


I very much prefer canines. And not just any dogs at that; but BIG and REAL ones. Middle-sized dogs are alright. But small dogs aren't really dogs, if you ask me.
They don't bark; they yelp pitifully.
They don't eat; they nibble slowly.
They don't lick you; they sniff you pathetically.
They don't leap or jump onto you; they hop miserably.
A real dog is one which is fat-pawed, big-eating, and totally capable of practically slurping you in the face. One which you can either saddle on, or wrestle with, or both.


Anyway, before I digress... ... ...
Does anyone else feel the same way as I do about felines?