Tuesday, April 19, 2011


I knew I had lost.

I stared at her through the door made of bars. My pounding heart, residual evidence of our struggle, attempted to burst from my chest. I glared at her through those bars, my eyes full of enraged humiliation. The very core of my being was stinging with fear and despair and hopelessness.

I saw her fingers brush her tousled hair back into place. I was pleased to see her examine a new scratch on her arm. It took her five minutes to pick up the junk basket I had knocked over, straighten the throw rug and hang that picture back up on the wall. I watched as she swept up drifts of my black and white fur and introduced it to the interior of that horrid Dustbuster. I may have been brutishly stuffed into the cage of doom, but I most certainly did not go willingly or peacefully.

And now, I feared the worst.

I began my death howls the minute she picked the cage up. I managed to intensify them to a terrifying, otherworldly kind of low scream as she took me to the car. As she drove, the hum of the engine was drowned out by my spine tingling and horrifying display of evil, guttural moaning. I impressed even myself. It was my best work ever. She peeked at me through the bars with a look of surprised fear in her eyes and exclaimed, “Holey, moley! How in the heck do you make those sounds come out of your body?”

I snickered inside.

I let out one final bellow when we walked into that detestable, foul smelling place. The lady up front turned around and cheerfully said, “This must be Max! What a precious honey. Don’t worry sweetie, we’re gonna get you all checked out.”

I was pretty sure I hated her. And I knew for certain that I didn’t want to be "checked out". I needed a new plan.

I went completely silent. I rolled myself into the smallest ball I could and pushed myself against the back of the cage. If no one could see me or hear me, then perhaps they would forget about “checking me out”.

I saw the lady peering into the cage. The nerve. I wasn’t about to look her in the eye. I turned my head. She peeked in the other side of the cage. I turned my head again. She went back to the first side. Quickly, I turned my head again. Then she gave up.

My plan was working.

But then she called my name, “Max. Come on back now Max. We’ll have a good look at ya.”

I scrunched and balled myself and closed my eyes as best I could. I politely refused to come out of the cage. The lady brazenly called me “such a sweetheart” when she selfishly dismantled the entire cage and lifted me out. I was picked up and petted and talked to in a soft, soothing voice. I responded by making myself as stiff as a board. I knew for sure I hated that lady.

I’m not really comfortable talking about what happened to me next. I’m too ashamed. Let’s just say it involved the lady taking me to a secret room. There was a thermometer and the wrong end of my body and an idiotic barking dog who seemed oblivious to his own caged situation. He couldn’t stop laughing at me. Even when the hated lady told me I was a healthy and very handsome 10 pounds I refused to look her in the eye.

When I returned from the secret room, the hated lady tried to look into my eyes and my ears. She tried to press her fingers all over my body. I made myself so stiff that she asked me to relax a little. Of course, I refused. She punished me by giving me 3 shots. And even though I was most unhappy with those shots, I refused to mutter a sound.

When I got home from the detestable, foul smelling
place, I hid under the bed for two days stewing in a jumble of anger, embarrassment and side effects from those darn shots. For those two days, however, I was able to plot my revenge. And on the third night, I arose from my under bed cave. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 2:43. I glanced out the window and saw that it was dark outside.

I walked into her bedroom and jumped up on the nightstand. I knocked a magazine to the floor. I knocked a lotion bottle to the floor. I banged the lamp into the wall with my head. I walked onto the bed and touched her lips with my paw. I started meowing and sat down on her head. She groaned my name- half asleep, half awake. When the man on the other side of the bed threw a sock at me I started laughing.

Revenge was going to be so much fun.

Check This Out!

The Slightly Exaggerated family has recently become infatuated with the History Channel's shows Pawn Stars and American Pickers. Part history, part really cool old stuff and part amusement, both shows are definitely worth checking out.