My Space Memories

Joe was looking at his MySpace page last night which we both never ever use anymore. But he found an old blogpost that we were both cracking up about and I told him I would post it today. So here it is...

Written by Joe:

CAT SCRATCH FEVER
One of my favorite Dane Cook sketches is one where he talks about wanting to own an evil monkey that he could battle in his house. I think he literally mentions having a battle of epic porportions with the monkey. I don't have a monkey, but I do have Paws, the evil cat. Yesterday she and I finally had a battle of epic porportions.
Most of you know that Jamie and I have two cats; Cosby who is arguably the coolest cat ever born and then Paws, arguably the worst cat ever born. I have also made it known that I hate this cat . I hate this cat more than I hate terrorism. She pees on my clothes, she chews through cords, she knocks over drinks, she tears up our couches, she is ugly and she has dandruff and she smells bad and she doesn't clean herself and she's fat. I DON'T LIKE PAWS. I love animals and I am kind to animals, but I don't like this animal.
Additionally I fancy myself to be a fairly level-headed bloke. I don't go into steroid rages or yell or anything of the sort. I try to let it all just roll off my back. But nothing on this earth sends me into an angry tirade like finding something new that Paws has pissed on and last night the wheels came off.....
I come home from work and I smell it. I know its somewhere but its faint. The smell, she hides from me like the sirens of the sea. In the foyer? Nope. In the kitchen? Nope. In the living room? Hmmm.....its getting stronger, stronger, there it is. She has peed in this little basket we keep our blankets in. By the smell of it, she has abused this spot on more than one occasion. I snapped, that was it. It was a palpable feeling of something going awry within my mind. I could see now how people get off on the temporary insanity plee b/c I was outside of myself. I started talking to myself "Thats it Paws, you're done now cat. WHERE ARE YOU PAWS? I AM COMIN FOR YOU!!!!" I am storming around my house opening doors and yelling. A virtual whirling dervish if you will.
So I storm to my basement and I create a bunker or bomb shelter in which this cat would reside. A little food, some water and a litter box. Solitary confinement for a feline. I find Paws and we have a showdown not unlike something a linebacker and a running back would do. She jukes to the right, back to the left, under the bike and she makes a break for the door. But alas Paws!!!! I have closed the door and dive on her making a perfect open field tackle. There are a few casualties in the form of scratches but I can deal with it. For now I have slain the dragon and I am pleased. I throw her in the back room and barricade the door as though I had a wolverine back there.
(30 minutes later)
I am on the couch watching the US vs. Canada soccer match. I grabbed myself a little cocktail to help calm myself down from the episode so I am generally feeling a lot better. She's down there crying but I will shed NO TEARS for her as I sit amongst the stench of urine in my living room. But then, who should come sauntering by? Thats right, Paws. She comes walking right by me as though nothing had happened. She looked at me and I may be mistaken but I am fairly certain she winked at me. A cloud of darkness overcame me and I remember nothing more.....
The moments that ensued were nothing short of a wild melee. I go down the stairs to reinforce the bunker and I find Paws and I try to throw her back in there. No sooner do her feet hit the floor than she was right back out. I grab her again, throw her farther in there but she was like a yo-yo! It was surreal. I try to get the second piece of my barricade up and she's on it, 8 feet in there air cussing at me! "F**k you Joe, I'm outta here!!!" I found her 10 minutes later in a closest upstairs. She had climbed into a cat carrier of all things and the cunning beast that she was, she knew she would be hard to spot. After all, a black cat in a black bag in a dark closet isn't like Waldo in a green pasture. So I temporarily threw in the towel and just locked her in the closet until Jamie came home.
(2 hours later)
So Jamie comes home and I filled her in on the bunker situation and where Paws was and such. Together we go down and secure the area with such a mass of doors and kegs and other items that I swear I couldn't get out of there. We go upstairs to get the cat out of the closet, but guess who is standing in the kitchen? Thats right, once again Paws, I mean Houdini, has freed herself from her bondage. Baffling. anyways, I guess Jamie's tactic of talking quietly to her and giving her treats worked a little better than my method of screaming and slamming doors because we eventually got the cat locked back there. But I invite you to come over and see the measures to which we had to go to contain just this one cat. Additionally I have the scratches to prove it.
I hate that cat.