It was one of those hot days. I mean really hot. And as I am sure you are aware girls often wear less when it is hot. If like me you have not been laid in a while, a walk down the street can be a dangerous thing. Young girls, older girls, business girls, fruity girls and even on the train back home an older-than-me-woman displaying her jewellery for all to see.

As you know men, during these dry times often nature calls, and it was in this heated sense of desperation that I headed back home feeling deeply frustrated passing many more attractive women on the way. Without thinking too much I thought it only natural to dispense myself as soon as I got home thus relaxing my mind so I could write.

Of course I knew Mary was in the room but Mary was a cat and cats don’t know shit. They don’t know I am a man. They can’t differentiate between me mowing the lawn, doing the dishes, or hurling one off during my own personal depression. So I decided to quickly fire one of while Mary was sat in her basket licking her paw.

Already a twinge of guilt was creeping up on me as I casually glanced at Mary. I’m thinking, cats don’t know they’re cats, do they? At that point Mary stops licking her paw and looks at me. I slow down and pull back on the fruity imagery while Mary makes a sudden leap towards me but only two steps. I freeze, caught between a rock and a hard-on. 

Again she’s looking at me and it’s as if she pinches her brow in a sense of dismay. I thought I knew this cat. Normally she would eat, poop, and then leave. But now she seemed to be staring at me in a disapproving manner. I started to pull up my trousers with a sense of disgust but Mary quickly took another leap, and then a jump, and before I knew what hit me, Mary was clinging to my balls.

I screamed. She didn’t, because cats don’t scream, or can they? Immediately I start swishing Mary from side-to-side, but she’s still clinging on with those razor-sharp claws and the fear and pain is raging through my entire body. If I had been a Zen Priest now would be a good time to meditate. Focus on the pain they would say, but I had no time. Time had ceased to exist as I started to spin around and around.

It was me and Mary caught in this death swirl, spinning around the living room. She is looking at me and I am looking at her and I’m thinking does she actually know that she is a cat? Does she have cat consciousness? Surely not but the look on her face was one of disgust and I was sorry this whole thing had ever happened.

I screamed at Mary, ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ and at that point the cat let go of my balls and then jumps to the other side of the room, sits up right in her basket, and starts licking her paw again. Composed and regal. I buckled my belt and headed out into the kitchen. I looked in the freezer for frozen peas but I had eaten them last night.

The only thing left was fish fingers. The irony was not lost on me. It was Mary’s favourite dish. I sat there holding the fish fingers to my balls and just tried to calm myself down but Mary was in the other room. That look on her face before I left the room was freaky. Maybe cats do know they are cats.