So most of the time, the toilet-drinker (otherwise known as Oliver) is a pretty mellow guy. A good portion of the day, he can be found chillin’ like a villain:
(Probably dreaming of taking another nap.)
But the truth is that despite his missing front fang, his knowing eyes, and his…impressive bulk, Oliver is actually a pretty young cat: the vet put him at about two years, but I think he might even be younger. Back in February when we first got him, he was still chasing his tail–prime kitten behavior. Older cats don’t have the energy for that shit. Also, they’ve figured out that IT HURTS WHEN YOU BITE YOURSELF.
Kittens: dumber than shit, cuter than sin.
So yes. Oliver is a young cat, and he likes to play. This presents kind of a problem, since Original Flavor Cat is eleven years old and half his size, not to mention terminally timid. In short, she has no interest in wrestling with our fair toilet-drinker. So Oliver has to resort to other means to get his jollies. Which is how he came to haunt the upstairs stairwell like a beefy teenage hoodlum trolling for victims last night:
(Who, me? I’m not going to bite anyone’s face off!)
Before we could call the cops on him for loitering with intent to nibble, however, tragedy struck. The Roomate, who should have known better than to leave his cave basement apartment, came upstairs to ask a question.
I’m going to cut, because these images are graphic.
As photographic evidence of The Incident proves, at first, Shawn thought it was cute that the toilet-drinker wanted to maim him:
(Hiiiiiiii! Claws? What’re those?)
But slowly (very slowly) the truth began to dawn:
(Hey! What’re you doing? It kind of…it kind of hurts.)
Finally, Ollie’s secret was out: he wanted BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD:
(Hahahahahaha…ow, motherfucker! OW!)
After slowly digging his claws in Shawn’s witless skull, Oliver took a moment to look like a deranged mother-fucker:
(Hmmm…momma’s shins look delicious…come closer, food lady!)
And then, as quickly as it began, the attack was over, and the assailant went off to take a much-deserved nap–leaving his victims to wonder: when will he strike again? How? And: seriously, what the fuck just happened?
(Finis)
Ahahahahaha! I love him. He’s like a fat version of my cat. I shall send you a pic.
Hee! I actually had another black and white kitty (who now belongs to my mom), and when I first got Oliver, I was all, “He’s like the linebacker version of Casanova!”
Yes. I named an animal Casanova. And if it wasn’t for the Boyfriend, Oliver’s name would be Don Juan. I am a Bad Mother.
(Send pix of adorable cat plz!!!!)
I have sent you links to cat pictures!
You are NOT a bad mother… My Awesome Dad? Yeah, he’s given not one, but TWO cats the name “Pisshead.”
Now that you mention it, I had a similar thought when I first saw a picture of Oliver… “Dude, what has she been FEEDING Cassanova?!”
The similarities are pretty uncanny, right down to the slutty personality, the horrifying bowel movements, and unwillingness to be riled even by a direct swat to the face. Cas is a lot more athletic, though, and has a better tail. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t judge, but it’s true. That cat has the best tail in the entire world.
Oliver’s got tufted ears, though, so it all evens out.
Let me interpret for you: he is rolling Shawn for his lunch money. Claro.
Probably. Now that I’ve put him on a strict diet, he needs the extra cash for rollos.
I have a puppy at home now, and I can totally sympathize. Small furry animals that are like, well small furry traps. With teeth and claws.
The puppy isin the phase where it checks everything for chewiness.
I don’t know if you heard the old proverb about a school o fpiranhas being able to eat a cow in two minutes? Well, it is probably not true, but I know how that cow would feel.
Well, it is probably not true, but I know how that cow would feel.
Tell me about it. Oliver firmly believes that the best way to get my attention is to A.) Knock shit over, and if A.) fails, then B.) start nipping.