I think Willie did some meth or coke tonite. He came back in from outside, tipped over my beer and immediately hit the iPod speaker dock and navigated to the Killers and then the Fray using the old touch wheel. I was impressed with his ability and choice until he went at clawing my leather man-recliner, or tried to before I cuffed him hard. Then I grabbed him to check whether he was was on drugs and he shot out of my hand like a bolt of lightening and right into the glass patio door. BOINK. SPLAT. Rargh, spasm, mee-ouch. As he lay twitching on the Spanish tile gasping for air, I approached with great caution because he's tricked me before into buying him Fancy Feast (the little tweaker). But, before I got to him, the ceiling cat, the evil all-white Caspar came in. He's her cat and he's a bastard. He watches me when she's away. Maybe or perhaps very likely he's not ceiling cat but actually a demon.
On his demonic entrance, Willie came to life and rose up and got Masonic (Willie's Fifth Degree Mason) on Caspar's ass. During a 30 second crazed sword-fight frenzy, they damn near knocked my 42" plasma off the wall. I swear I saw them run up a wall, across the ceiling and tip over a forty pound clay cactus planter during a very entertaining scuffle. Willie is cleaning his paws right now and Caspar ain't quite as white as he was before he annoyed Willie. Some of you might know or remember Willie has Pueblo, CO hobo-camp experience. You don't mess with hobos or their cats. We all know that. I think. Oh yeah and I forgot to mention that Willie trains at the Gilbert County Island Flood Irrigation Ninja Prefectory for Cats. So he did have an advantage over Caspar. Plus, Caspar's a pussy.
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