The Rise, Reign, and Ruin of the Sock Monkey


I have good friends, a couple, who have a skinny almost all-white cat named Sock Monkey. Actually, that is my name for him. I think his real name is Wolfgang. I call him Sock Monkey because, well, he looks like a Sock Monkey. The other week I was chilling at their place and Sock Monkey was getting pretty chummy with me. I mean he was purring when I was petting him, all sweet and cozy. It was a love fest.

I had a cat named Barnabas who was about the sweetest animal of all time. He had all the wonderful traits of a dog--namely a people pleaser who liked to be pet--without the bark. Plus, I could leave him alone while away for a weekend and he would be fine. Although, the 11 days I left him alone in my apartment in Lancaster was pretty wrong. I think, based of the size of the turds in the litter box, that he ate all of his allotted food in three days. He was a bit ticked when I finally got home. I truly was not a good nominee of Frisky Buffet's Cat Owner of the Year Award.

So, based on old dear Barnabas, I like some cats. The aloof arrogant ones I don't bother with. But, Sock Monkey seemed to be one that was a cool cat. But, and it is a big but, he then BIT me. After all that affection I had lavished on him. And it wasn't because I stepped on his tail. It was pure evil. A bite out of nowhere like a sniper bullet fired out in the night. He had it so good. I was loving him.

Now I look upon old Sock Monkey a little warily. He tries now to cozy up to me and I retreat and recoil. How soon he has forgotten his betrayal. Sock Monkey is like the world. We give ourselves to it and we eventually get bit. I have been around long enough to show you the marks. Keep your purr to yourself.       

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