18 October 2006

Support the Venetian Blind

It all started with me sleeping on the couch for some trifling domestic infraction like making disparaging comments about George Clooney’s masculinity or comparing Gretchen’s posterior with that of a Wildebeest.

Sleeping on the couch is really not such a bad thing since the couch is more comfortable than the bed, and it is in close proximity to both the TV and the beer-miester.

The down side is of course cat related. In the living room, one is regaled nightly with the sounds of furball manufactury, cat box depositions (it's in the basement but there is an open heating duct) and curio destruction. Occasionally a cat will go so far as to jump upon one's delicate bits without advance notice.


This time, I was awakened by the sound of a cat licking the Venetian blind. Cats seem to like the taste of plastic because, well, they’re idiots.

“Knock it off!” I yelled, to no avail.

I tried to push it off with my foot. It just moved out of reach.

Slcritch. Slcritch. Slcritch. Slcritch. Slcritch. Slcritch. I hate that damned sound.

I kicked out a few times with all the grumpy vigour of a severly constipated badger. I didn’t hit the damned cat, but he decided to leave.

Unfortunately, I did hit the Venetian blinds and ended up with my foot entangled.

Now, you lot may not realize this, but it’s almost impossible to get back to sleep with your foot tangled up in a Venetian blind three feet above your head. I tried reaching up to free my leg, but this is like actual exercise. I fell back supine, grunting with fatigue. Then I tried again.

“Clatter!” rang out the blinds as I hauled myself up. “Grunt!” as I gave in to fatigue. The cat, having sensed that I no longer posed a threat, returned to his ecstatic blinds-licking session.

“Clatter! Grunt! Slcritch! Slcritch! Slcritch! Knock it off!”

“Clatter! Grunt! Slcritch! Slcritch! Slcritch! Knock it off!”

“Clatter! Grunt! Slcritch! Slcritch! Slcritch! Knock it off!”

“Clatter! Grunt! Slcritch! Slcritch! Slcritch! Knock it off!”

Soon the lights were flicked on.

“The cat did it!” I exclaimed guiltily. Of course, by this time he was feigning innocence by delicately licking his rump.

“Feel the burn, Dad!” encouraged Lout the Elder, while Lout the Younger snapped pictures.

Gretchen shook her head. “You’re buying new blinds tomorrow!” was all she said.

Do you lot have any idea how much those things cost? I shall have to start a fake charity. “Give to the Venetian Blind!” I’ll tell my coworkers.


And they bloody well better, or I’m giving them all cats.


And that's the way I likes it.