Tales from the Desert

The mark of the beast

Look, to be honest, I was quite looking
forward to cat-sitting Birgit's young ginger cat,
Chrisu for a fortnight. Birgit assured me that he
would be fine at entertaining himself, even though
we don't have that much space and cream-coloured
furniture. And if I fed him the tinned food religiously
at night, he would sleep through.

Aah. The penny should have dropped.

Alas, Chrisu-on-tinned-food, would think it was playtime
every morning at 3 am - sharp. I couldn't even lift my arm
at this point, though I did try and persuade him in a lame-armed
sort of way he would be much better off sleeping than playing.
Chrisu remained unconvinced, and was literally bouncing off the walls,
the furniture, the kitchen cabinets, the fridge, my bed, me...
Finally, I would have to resort to earplugs and closing the
bedroom door. Scratch, scratch, meeeoooooowwwww...
MEEEOOOOOWWWWW!!!
Right, Plan C. Except that there was no Plan C.

Perhaps Chrisu and I had a communication problem. I don't think
he spoke that much English. And my Austrian German is quite simply
nonexistent.

So on day 8, my nerves were a bit frazzled. I had barricaded myself in
my bedroom, trying desperately to finish off a painting in time for a
friend's birthday. I was at the stage where I was filling in the finer
details with one of those paintbrushes that have a total of 3 hairs.
Utter precision and concentration was required.

At this point Geoff, my flatmate, sent me a text from the safety
of his car, saying that the cat had quite possibly gone mad,
and was streaking around the front room.
I know Geoff, I know, I thought.

So I decided to risk life and limb to see if I could calm Chrisu down,
who I was now seriously suspecting of bearing the infamous
numeral 666 somewhere underneath all that cute furriness.

As I stepped out of my room, I saw a furry orange streak of ligtning,
launching himself over and top of the lounge furniture, taking a low
jump in between the dining room table, and chairs, and back again
onto the cream-coloured couches. Chrisu finally ends up on top of
the kitchen cabinet, which he gets to by using the top of kitchen
counter and then the fridge as a springboard.

And there he sits looking at me. Defiant and proud, and with what
I can only describe as a slightly evil glint in his eye. And I do the
only thing that's left for me to do to keep my dignity intact.
I cross the line between homo sapien and animal and start hissing
at him. Well, at least it deterred him for a while. The whole of
5 minutes, that is.

Nicole, Birgit's roommate came around a few days later to fetch
Chrisu from me without incident. And everyone will be happy to
know that he is back safely in Birgit's care.
And yet, I still can't shake the feeling that someone or rather
something iswatching me late at night. And then there is the faint
scratching at the door that wakes me every now and then, at 3 am
- sharp.