Rascally Rabbit

One time, about five years ago, the Alpaca Producers of Georgia presented me with an extremely high-end alpaca scarf. Why? Because I fucking rocked the alpaca scene, baby. Actually, they gave it to me because I wrote a bunch of articles about alpaca farmers.

(Holy shit. I just googled my name and the word 'alpaca' to see if the stories were still online. And what do ya know! If you go here and scroll down to the third story, you can see what I did in a former life. I was 22 at the time, unmarried and living in a place I loathed. Also, I was a terrible fucking writer. Dr. Davies, my journalism professor, must have been so goddamned embarrassed to read this shit. And to think! At the time I was so proud that I actually would send it to him!)

But I digress. So I was given this gift, which I had no idea was worth as much as it was or I wouldn't have taken it. Ethics forbade it...Who am I kidding! Of course, I would have taken it. I made $22,000 a year – they owed me the fucking scarf.

Okay, so I got the scarf that I shouldn't have taken but totally fucking deserved and wrapped it around my pudgy little neck and drove back the overpriced ghetto apartment that I couldn’t afford. The scarf was crème colored and by far the softest garment I owned. I can recall pouring myself a glass of wine, plopping down on the couch and closing my eyes for a few moments. I'd been at a fucking agricultural expo for 18 hours and I needed a moment to collect myself before I removed my farm clothes and that beautiful scarf.

Just as I was draining my wine, I heard this god awful hissing sound. Like the fucking devil and burst through my living room floor and was about to materialize in ball of enraged flames. Before I could open my eyes and gaze upon the Lord of Darkness, I was attacked.

For an instant, I saw the blur of a tiny black and white ninja. As I threw my arms up defensively, the last sip of wine splashed into my eyes, blinding me. Incapacitated, the ninja wrapped its lethal hands around my neck, pulled the scarf tight and squeezing breath out of me. I gasped wildly and clawed back in an attempt to fight off the attacker, but the ninja had the better of me. Whenever I would gain the advantage, the ninja would flip around and kung fu me from a different direction. My struggling seemed to just anger it more and it started biting me.

Retreat was the only option. I finally made it to my feet and ran for the front door. As I fled, the scarf fell from my neck to the floor. Determining there was no time to save my prized possession, I left it in a heap on the floor.

And that's when the strangest thing happened…

My eyes came back into focus and I was able to determine there wasn't a ninja attacking, but rather my cat. And Gert wasn't trying to rip my face off -- she was trying to kill the fucking alpaca that had came into her house. I was merely an innocent bystander caught up in the warfare.

No scarf is worth this shit, I thought, defeated for hours in the sun and exhausted from all that crappy writing. So I just let her have the scarf. I thought she'd wear herself out on it, sufficiently "kill" it, then I'll be able to move it out of the living room floor.

Oh, but how I was wrong. No, killing it wasn't good enough for Gertrude. Instead she held the scarf prisoner and tortured it slowly for hours. And if I walked by the scarf, she's go completely nuts and start biting and clawing my ankles. If I tried to pick it up, she's wrap around my arm and fight the scarf.

This little song and pony show went on for two days. Finally – and only after it looked like I'd rolled around naked in a briar patch – I had enough. For the next half hour I donned over mitts, used a metal garbage can lid as a shield and the broom to sweep the scarf away from Gert.

Finally I was able to remove it from my home. For the next six years it lived in my car because I dared not take it back into her lair.

--

Six years pass. I am no married and live in place I love and do work I adore. Even better is that my abest friend and her family live nearby.

It was at Madge's home this weekend that I made a new friend, Juan Carlos The Bunny Rabbit.

Now Juan Carlos is some very special breed. But I can't remember what it is. All I know is this really smart fucking rabbit sat in my lap for an hour and ate a carrot. Then it gave me kisses and rooted in my hair.

I loved Juan Carlos and Juan Carlos loved me.

A few hours later I am at home and preparing for bed. I have forgotten about holding Juan Carlos.

Gertrude, however, hasn't missed this fact.

Care to guess what I spent the next eight hours doing?

Here's a clue: There was one tiny, devil ninja involved.

And that is the story of how I got cat scratches on the inside of my eye lids.