Story Time: When Cat Poop Attacks

Story Time: When Cat Poop Attacks

Posted by on Feb 22, 2013 in Story Time, Writing | 19 comments

It was a Canadian day, meaning it was windy, snowy, and cold outside. I’d slipped on my warm slippers, built for the everlasting cold of my world. I moved towards the stairwell, each step glaring at me with opposition. One at a time I overcame their adversity, avoiding their metal claws and dust bunny fangs. Something rattled inside my slipper, but I ignored it.

By halfway I felt defeated. I leaned against the wall, catching my breath, wondering why I would walk all this way. I could’ve stayed downstairs where I was comfortable. There was coffee downstairs. Mmmm, coffee.

I realized the magic of the stairwell was trying to consume me. It wanted to syphon my strength and fuse fear into my soul. I pushed past it and demolished the final stairs, biting my thumb at the stairwell as it sneered at my triumph. But something wasn’t right. I hadn’t escaped the stairwell of foreign hairballs unscathed.

It was a lump at first, cold and hard, moving beneath my foot. Each step pushed it harder against me until it attacked, lashing out with sharp jaws. I gasped, lifting my foot from the ground and shaking my slipper, as if the tremor of such a quake could dislodge any opponent who dare feast upon my heel.  The lump moved again and I stared down at my slipper, attempting to  penetrate the black shell and strike fear into the heart of my attacker. After all, I didn’t want to slide my slipper off and empty it if I didn’t have to. That would be too much work. That’s what the demons wanted.

Two more steps and the lump tried to tear away my skin and make its way into the sugar-infested blood that lied beneath the soft shell of my humanity. I cursed under my breath and sighed. My foot slipped out of the slipper and I reached down. The creature had ignored my stone-cold Canadian glare, but now it would suffer my true wrath.

With my hand wrapped around the front of my slipper, I lifted it from the carpeted earth and tipped it vertically. A clang and rattle sounded, then silence. I gave the slipper a shake of supernatural proportions sure to dislodge any clinging opponents. A muffled scream came from the inner fabric and finally the villainous creature dislodged, falling to the dust bunny hallway and rolling away with an aerial aversion technique I’d never seen. It was like an enormous piece of dog food that sought deeper meaning from its life. One that avoided the ride to my Labradors stomach.

Startled for only a moment, I attacked. Ice-covered fingers reached down and hit the attacker, grasping it with a grip no demon could escape. It lashed out, it’s body remolding itself with each ounce of pressure I applied. It squished.

Squishy? The dog food had become a partially mushy counterpart? Perhaps someone fed it after midnight, or worse, got it wet? I brought it to my nose and with a sniff it unleashed a aroma so fowl it  could slay the fiercest of giants. But I wasn’t a giant—I was a Canadian.

My eyes opened wide and I tossed the beast back to the floor. A green symbiote-like infection slid over my hand, creeping up my arm in an attempt to devour me. As the symobite consumed me, the beast  grew and expanded, stealing my power and strength to become a behemoth of stench and elasticity. I knew there was only one weapon that could be used against such a monster.

I did a dive roll into the bathroom, washing my hands with anti-bacterial soap. The symobite screamed and hissed. Smoke wafted into the air, the symobite destroyed by my cleanliness. I wouldn’t let this beast’s infectious nature consume my soul. With dry hands, I reached for the only weapon capable of defeating it—the roll of destiny.

It unraveled in my mighty grip, giving in to my obvious superiority. A one-handed cartwheel threw me back in the line of fire and I didn’t wait for my opponent to react. I lunged forward, guiding the roll like an extension of my body. It wrapped my foe in a Charmin-like embrace and the demon unleashed a primordial howl. In moments, the monster is consumed by the power of the roll. Its destiny has been met.

I moved with a warrior’s grace and lifted the beast with ease, leading it into the bathroom. When my grip released, a faint cry sounded, fading in the distance until the resounding splash of magic overcame it. With a flex of my power, water consumed the beast, swirling and gushing over it, and then it was gone, banished to a fate far worse than it set out to avoid. It would live eternally in the land of Fecalopolis.

Once again, an attack on my life had been averted. But the fight wasn’t over…not even close. These kinds of monsters didn’t attack on their own. They were demons commanded by a superior being. I knew this was only the beginning of my battle with evil. With this demon destroyed, I now had to face its creator: Abby the cat.