Reason #2 I don't like cats. From the 1980 archives.
Dated the same girl from middle of junior year up until two years out of high school. My girlfriend had this friend, and there was something about her. I wanted into that so bad. But no, she wouldn't violate the friendship even on the few times there were opportunities. I tried every angle, every move, every ruse I could think of. And oh, the friend knew it. It was cat and coy mouse.
Well one weekend the girlfriend was gone. Away with the family on a two-week vacation. I was house sitting. No, this wasn't the year I got drunk with her older sister while keeping the house and violated every room in the place. This was another summer.
I worked my best magic and convinced the friend to go with me to some event I can't even remember that was way out in the country. Under the guise of "keeping me from getting in trouble" she went along. A little drink, a little dancing, a little this and a little that and she caught a nice buzz. Things were progressing well and she finally relented. Agreed to pack up the liquor, go back to the girlfriend's house and whatever happened just happened. Hit the Mustang running and the girl was purring. She was leaned over the seat, touching and nuzzling. Wanting to be touched and nuzzled back.
And then:
"Oh, no, look out for the cat!"
There was a fucking cat darting into the road. I was hot, my brain a little fuzzy from the contact and the Mustang was flying up the two-lane. I saw the cat, calculated it's speed, determined that it would be close to the center line as I got there and made the instantaneous decision to swerve to the right and scrape the shoulder. Goosed the gas just a bit to make sure I wasn't going to slew.
And that fucking piece of shit cat looked up at the headlights, panicked and spun back the other way. When I saw its shiny, frightened orbs I knew what the bitch was going to do. So I tapped the brakes just a bit, enough to start the back end to slide, cut the wheels, jammed the gas and snarled toward the left side of the road.
Just as the cat reversed field again.
I centered the motherfucker. Ka-WHUMP front tire. Ka-WHUMP back tire.
She screams at me to stop the car, snatching at the blouse to begin the rebuttoning process. I jam the brakes and slide to a stop. She bolts from the car, and I see deep into the blouse as she turns away, the bra so gently cupping her delicate breasts. I'm still sitting in the car trying to deconstruct what just happened when I hear her wail....
It's DEAD, it's DEAD!
And it was most definitely dead. The head of the thing looked like a pumpkin that had been hit repeatedly with a baseball bat. There was a deep recess in the body with a tire print across it. Bowels had exploded out its ass and made a Rorschach test on the pavement. Nobody was bringing this thing back. It was gone.
This girl I wanted so, so badly looks up at me with tears spilling down her face (and I wanted her even more in that moment). Then her face turns into a mask of rage. She points a crooked finger at me and shrieks "You did that on PURPOSE! You swerved just so you could hit the cat! How could you?"
I'm standing there with a rapidly fading chub, flabbergasted that she didn't recognize my superb driving skills as a desperate attempt to avoid hitting the kitty. A little aggravated that I got no credit for performing that miraculous piece of stunt driving with one hand as my other was initially involved in exploring her taut midsection.
But no, I'm the dastardly kitty killer.
I tried and tried to convince her that I did my best to keep from hitting it, I couldn't anticipate the changes in direction it made. She eventually calmed down, said she understood and didn't blame me, but also asked if I could just take her home. The buzz was gone. The mood was ruined.
The kitty killed my pussy. Fucker. I never got close to that again.
She told me a few days later that while she was sorry the cat died, it probably prevented her from messing things up for me because if we'd done what we were going to do she'd have been obligated to tell my girlfriend out of respect.
And then she told her anyway "what we almost did".
I managed to play that off. "No, baby. She was so drunk. I was taking her home because some skanky guys were hitting on her and I was trying to do the right thing. She tried to make a little bit of a move on me and I told her absolutely not, but you know how she gets when she drinks. Then I killed a stupid cat by accident because I was having to deal with her. She got all pissed off about it and is probably just saying shit because of that. Yeah, she tried to make a move, but she was drunk and I didn't think anything about it. Don't be mad at her baby, she didn't mean anything. It was just the booze talking. I didn't want to tell you because you're such good friends and it was no big deal."
Kept the girlfriend temporarily. But that thing that I wanted was lost to me forever.
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