Revenge is a Dish Best Served on the Floor


Son of a - HOLY SH-

I hissed again at the incompetent peasant in the white coat as she unceremoniously jammed a thermometer up my ass. She deems herself a veterinarian, but I'm convinced this demon spawn crawled her way out of hell, if her brutish hands were any indication. She even had the audacity to grip the skin behind my neck with one of said hands in an effort to "calm" me - who the hell does she think she is, my mother?

I don't even know why we're here. I'm a perfectly healthy cat. Are annual checkups really that necessary? I'm young, I'm playfully violent, and my silky orange and white coat could earn me a gig with Pantene. I've been in this stark white room a handful of times already, and I only have Maya's anxiety to blame. If I do so much as sneeze, she looks at me like I'm frothing at the mouth. God, what an idiot. Ryan's a lot more relaxed than her. I could be frothing at the mouth and he'll just look at me as if I need to sneeze.

After a series of poking and prodding, Demon Spawn had me sit still on a large metal plate for a few seconds before shaking her head and giving my humans a small chuckle. 

"Looks like Conan's got a little beer belly goin' on!" 

Why, you little b-

I whipped my head to the left to see if Ryan or Maya heard what just came out of this simpleton's mouth. Apparently they did, because Ryan laughed along with Demon, and just as I opened my mouth to commence a brutal retort, Maya, who must have seen the incredulity painted on my face, gave me a knowing look and shook her head ever so slightly. 

Oh, right. Let's rewind for a second.

We all found out I could speak within days of my adoption. Moments after we shared our first dialogue (in which I kindly told them to fuck off for waking me), they knelt down and made me promise not to speak in human tongue outside the house or in front of anyone other than them. Since my kittenhood, I've stayed true to my word, with the exception of outwardly threatening to kill Ryan's cousin in his sleep about six months ago. Thank God Kevin was intoxicated beyond recognition, and Maya convinced him it was the alcohol messing with him. Needless to say, the poor soul hasn't touched tequila since. 

Enter our present situation. 

I held my tongue, despite practically seething with exasperation, in an effort to keep my word to my humans. No matter how much I wanted to completely tear down this "vet" with spoken words, I could always have Ryan print out a picture of her at home so I could use it as a scratch mat. 

"Okay guys, I strongly suggest you only give Conan here half a container of wet food in the morning, and half a cup of dry food at night. That should keep him satiated and help him lose a few pounds."

...She's full of shit. 


The next morning I awoke to the melody coming from the little plastic black orb on Ryan's nightstand. My humans were spooning shamelessly in a mess of white sheets (God, they're disgusting). I leapt off my tower and onto the bed as he tapped his alarm device to deactivate it. While I was beyond pissed at them for the series of unfortunate events at the vet's office, it's my routine to greet these idiots with a purr here, a cuddle there. They think I'm adorable. I know I'm adorable. 

Nine minutes passed and I had grown tired of laying in the crevice between the sweaty duo. I pressed my paw against Maya's nostrils until she struggled and woke with a gasp. 

"Hey fatass, wake up, I want some breakfast."

"You're joking...what time is it?" she slurred as she struggled to sit up, her voice hoarse. Her disheveled chestnut hair resembled a bird's nest atop her head and her eyes were slightly crossed. I find it endearing. She always looks like a cartoon character in a frat boy's attire when she first wakes. She checked the time on her phone while pushing her glasses onto her face. "Dammit Conan, it's not even 8:00, are you kidding me?"

"Are you kidding me? You're denying your only child the nourishment he needs for survival. I could call the Humane Society and get your ass in trouble like that." I punctuated the last word with a feeble attempt at a snap with the pink, cushioned pads of my paw. Damn my limited dexterity. 

"Ugh, fine. Come on, dookie." She rolled out of bed and stumbled out of the room with as much grace as a drunken giraffe on a trampoline. Idiot doesn't do anything with a smidgen of finesse or panache, really. 



My eyes must have been wide as saucers as she finished spooning out only half the container of the insipid brown sludge from the tin can, dolloping the goop onto the mini styrofoam plate that sat on the laundry room floor.

"You heard the vet, Conan. We need to keep your calories down so you don't gain any more weight and become diabetic. Do you want to start taking insulin?"

"No, but I don't have to worry about fitting into skinny jeans either, now do I?" I asked impertinently. "RYAN! GET OVER HERE!". Seconds later, the bald Italian hobbled over, clad in dark blue basketball shorts and a weathered graphic tee, adjusting his glasses. "Are you behind this too?"

"Sorry man, you are getting a little pudgy."

My jaw dropped. "Wha...drag me!"

"Dammit Maya, stop teaching our cat gay slang!" 

Maya leaned against the threshold of the laundry room and crossed her arms, giving me a playful smirk. "No. It suits him perfectly. Doesn't it, hunty?"

"We love it, sis."

"Fine. YOU handle him," Ryan exclaimed as he trudged to the kitchen. I looked back at Maya, tilting my head and doing my best to give her those big, round kitten eyes that have won me countless treats in the past. 

"Sorry kiddo, half a can, and you're done until tonight". She turned on her heel and retreated to her office.


So that's how you want to play, bitch?


Six minutes had passed, and I was curled up on the plush red cushion of the wicker chair on the balcony. The San Diego air was calm and breezy, with only the sounds of birds chirping or neighbors walking to their cars interrupting the silence. That is, until Maya's piercing shriek traveled throughout the apartment and made its way outside. 



I strutted to the laundry room, knowing I'd find her there. She stood frozen next to the washing machine, mouth agape, staring in utter disbelief at the steaming pile of shit I left mere inches away from my litter box. 

"Yes, queen?"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!' she demanded, pointing at my offensive creation. 

"Oh, that?" I asked, making an innocent face. "Funny story, actually. I was going to poop in the litter box like a good little boy, but I guess my tum-tum didn't react well to being served a despicable ration of food suitable for a three-year-old Bolivian nomad." With that, I turned on my rear paws and began to trot out of the laundry room, turning back to her when I reached the threshold. Her hands were held out to her sides in an act of sheer disbelief, and her jaw had dropped so low, her mouth could fit a small pumpkin. I took it as my chance to speak further.

"Don't ever try to pull that shit off again. I expect a pile of coconut shreds, pita bread, and that hippie soy meat you losers eat on my plate tonight." I turned back around, heading back to the balcony. Just as I rounded the corner, I called out, "And give me a glass dish next time. Styrofoam is bad for the environment, you dicks".