I’m fairly certain my cat wants to kill me…

This morning’s bout of blasphemy was short but savagely enunciated.

Mrs DCF had got up and gone to work, leaving me peacefully slumbering, and as the warm sunlight peeked through the gap in the curtains I woke naturally; full of life and ready for the day ahead.
Only to open my eyes and stare directly in the yellow orbs of the cat, sat neatly like a sphinx on the bedside table, gazing deeply and intently into my very soul.

My calm and relaxed sense of happy purpose for the day evaporated slightly. I cricked my neck as I jumped in pure panic and the terror elevated my heartrate so suddenly that I’m sure I’ve reduced my life expectancy by a few minutes at least.

My reaction caused a counter-reaction, and that counter-reaction was to give such a look of disgusted loathing that I was sure I had just insulted the proud memories of her distant ancestors in the most unforgivable way.

I couldn’t have insulted her more if I had sneezed without warning.

After my heart rate had returned below the theoretical maximum for my age and my shaking hands permitted the coherent use of my phone, I sent a message to the other half:

“YOUR bloody cat just scared me to death!! The psycho was watching me sleep from 8 inches away! Xx”

Shortly after came the reply:

“Oh! She loves you! Xx”

Which got me thinking…
Does she? Is it a healthy obsession with her food and treat giver? Is it gratitude for the man who removes her litter tray stockpiles for her to refresh daily? Is it merely adoration for the controller of the magical red dot?

No, I don’t think it is.

Let’s look at the biology here. A cat is a predator, and although ours is a housecat with an inexplicable fear of just about everything she remains a predator. It’s hard-wired into her genetic makeup to be a killer.

As the kettle came to the boil and the blessed, rich aroma of coffee sparked my logic into further over-imagination, it dawned on me that if she were just a little bigger then I would probably be dead already. Which got me thinking of all the other peculiar habits of the feline menace.

Middle-of-the-night High Intensity Interval Training

Q. Are her bouts of inexplicable sprinting during darkness just one of her cute habits?
A. No; this is cardio training to stay at peak fitness and I’m certain it’s is undertaken at night so we can’t see just how fit she is.

Excessive digging in the litter tray

Q. Is her need to incessantly rearrange the litter a cat-like compulsion? Is it just her being weird?
A. No; this is practice. Pure and simple practice for when she needs to bury a human body.

Compulsive self-cleaning

Q. Is she just very hygiene conscious?
A. No; this is a demonstration of forensic awareness. She is telling me that no matter how thorough the investigation into my disappearance, they’ll find nothing on her.

Kneading my legs

Q. Is it cute? Is she getting comfortable?
A. No; some experts will tell you that this is behaviour instinctive to kittens. This is not true. She is tenderising her steak, pure and simple.

The list goes on, but I’m satisfied and convinced that my sudden disappearance is imminent.

So, cat owners…

Be safe, be vigilant, and get your estate in order!