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*Now insert feline…

 

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Should you be wondering, the cat’s name is Sargent…um, Sargent Chocolatefudgehammer…fist. Okay, that’s not true.

 

Onward with the mirth!

 

So I’d only gone and bloody done it. I’d gotten drunk. Now I’m a big boy. You’ll soon come to realize that wasn’t my finest day ever and what makes it all the more tragic and pathetic is I bet most of you guys had gotten slaughtered way before your eighteenth birthday. Up until then I stubbornly resisted the lures of alcohol and all that came with it. But as adolescence spread like genital warts (never had them, just added it for comic effect) so did irresistible urges. These urges came in the shapely shape of women.

 

**Interjection – I’d like to take this opportunity to place the blame for every daft thing I did on that fateful night squarely on the shoulders of womankind. After all, you were the driving reason I forced myself to get drunk. It’s your fault, not mine

How can I blame you? What do you mean how? Are you mental? How else do you think I could have mustered up the courage to actually speak to one of you? Jesus, back then the very thought of talking to a girl/woman was enough to have me looking for a place to hide. Yep, you guessed it, I wasn’t the most confident kid ever. Confidence or not confidence, I was on a mission!

 

The beginning the night dragged so slowly I regretted going. Things changed quickly – far to quickly if I’m honest – when the half dozen rum and cokes I’d snaffled took effect. My loosening inhibitions gained attention from another group stood on the other side of the birthday hall. At that point I can still remember fragments of the night. Smells, tastes and what little sounds I could make out over the booming, monotonous house music. Invitation or not, It seemed the other group weren’t so happy with us being their. I didn’t care, mind, I was having fun trying to dance/stay upright. Thank god mobile phones with cameras weren’t about back in the early 90’s or I’d have ended up of chuffing YouTube for sure.

I’m not sure if the hostile looks continued as by now I’d graduated from rum to anything I could lay my hands on. I even had a drag of a cigarette. One which I proceeded to stub out on the palm of my hand; smoking is a dirty habit.

 

By now you’re most likely wondering where do cats and paper planes come into this. All in good time, my minions, all in good time.

 

Early that evening the group made acquaintances with one of the guy’s parents who’d kindly agreed to allow all nine of us to crash at theirs.

 

Apart from the odd flash back, I can’t recall much of what happened. It turns out I’d made myself look like a complete chopper and the next day my friends happily told me all about it. Oh well, you live and learn, right? One of the successes to come from making an idiot of myself in public was I’d charmed a member of the fairer sex. I’m not exactly sure how it happened but I’ve a feeling pity might have been an overriding factor. Oh, and I’d been involved in a drunken punch up. No harm done, mind, save a chipped tooth and a bit of a lump.

However, I dare say if my mates hadn’t dragged me sulking from the clutches of the aforementioned young lady, I’d most likely have ended propping up her patio, or involved in another fight. No, home was most likely the best solution. So back to my friends we all staggered.

 

Without getting disrobed, why would I, it’s wasn’t my house, I settled down. Shortly after I awoke busting for the toilet. Well, I say shortly but truth is I had not idea what the time was but due to it being dark outside, I figured it to be not long since when I’d sat down.

In my drunken state I tried to rationalize how best to tackle my bladder. I had no clue where the upstairs toilet was and I really didn’t fancy tripping over some comatose drunk only to let go of my dignity and soak their carpet. So, I gave up on that idea and not knowing if they even had a downstairs loo, I headed for the back garden. Boll*cks!! The frigging door was locked. My befuddled brain struggled to comprehend my predicament and under intense pressure I searched for the key. No joy. Turns out the key was on a hook by the back door… Obviously at the time I didn’t know that and in a last ditch effort to avoid pi**ing myself, I quickly emptied the sink.

I know how gross this sounds but I really had no other choice. Anyway, after relieving myself I spent a moment washing the sink out with fresh water before stacking the dishes back in. Alas I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought because one of the others that was sleeping in the front room said I’d pretty much woken the whole house up with my crashing about. At one point he thought I’d fallen asleep in the kitchen because I was running the tap for so long. Ahem, um, I was resting my eyes…

 

Cats, where are the cats!?! Wait for it…

 

Everyone of the group that went out were apprentice chefs and after a long day in the kitchen, getting drunk and fighting I was feeling somewhat tired. So wearily I trudged back to my comfortable armchair bed and slumped back heavily.

Note, while I’m not built like a Russian shot putter, I weigh now, as I did then, a stocky, well set 90+kg. I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong; I didn’t break the chair. But what I did do, and in my defense I had no idea the family had a cat, was to sit back with such force I folded said moggy in two and shoved it down the back of the chair. Again I feel compelled to jump to my own defense and state that I’m pretty sure even before my robust backside met the soft cushion, I was fast asleep and should I have some how seen the cat, I wouldn’t have been able to abort.

 

I imagine what the cat must have thought as it watched me stumble back must have gone something like this.

 

“Ha, so long sucker. On you go. Looses weepers, finders…Jesus Christ, I’m gonna di…”

 

 

The first I knew about the cat was the sensation something was under me and trying to get out. Completely and utterly confused I shifted my weight from one buttock to the other. Kind of like you do when you’re about to break wind. The room I gave the cat must have been enough for it to pluck its head from between its legs and set about attacking my posterior. Feeling something bite and claw my backside, I quickly rolled further to one side. This allowed the cat the to escape and in a flash it vanished to the safety of upstairs.

 

To this day I don’t know how I didn’t kill the poor thing. Hell, I don’t even know what it’s name was. Spartacus, I name it Spartacus!!

 

Matt…

 

I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire… Guess the quote!

 

PS, I now no longer drink – your cats are safe.

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