I suppose that if there were ever a really bad B style horror movie made about Tippy and her insatiable craving for attacking the human race, this next story might be a good starting point. I’d like to say it’s about a good kitty gone bad, but to be as accurate as possible we better make it a bad kitty gone worse, well the same I guess. Tippy was always Tippy that never changed. due to relentless teasing by angst filled youth. Part two of Tippy’s attack cat memoirs begins with a sleepover my brother Dave was having with a few of his friends.
Being prepubescent boys there is a certain amount of mischievousness that, when you are of that age, seems funny. However, in the overall scheme of things it turns out not to be such a good idea. Enter Steve. Steve was one of the friends staying the night. While wandering around the house he noticed Tippy in the kitchen drinking out of her water dish. He called some of the other boys over to show them the brilliantly hysterical idea he just had. As the boys gathered around Steve bent over and tapped Tippy on the back of the head so that her face when into the water.
She pulled her head back, shook off the water that covered her face and in her best nonchalant manner, looked up at Steve. She stared at him for a few seconds and then went back to drinking. Steve did it again, and the group of boys giggled. Again Tippy just took a few moments to stare at Steve and when back to drinking. This process continued for a few more cycles, but the cat’s lack of response caused the boys to venture into a different room in the house to find something else to entertain them.
Eventually the phrase that has haunted and derailed the endless joy of having a sleep over with your friends was uttered… it was “time of bed.” A unanimous sigh of disappointment rose from the boys like a cloud of steam rising off the roads after a random rain storm in the middle of summer. But the adults had spoken, so Dave’s group of friends filed into the television room and climbed into their sleeping bags.
With five boys covering the orange shag carpeted floor, Dave cracked the door open to get a little air flow into the room. Then he flipped off the lights and climbed into his sleeping bag. Just as he was about two thirds submerged in his sleeping bag he felt a soft brush of fur against this arm. The cat was in the room with them. Dave jumped up, stumbled across the floor of boys as fast as he could and flipped on the light. It was too late. Tippy had taken her revenge.
Tippy had her front paws wrapped around the side of Steve’s head. Her back paws were wrapped around Steve’s neck, and she was biting his forehead. Steve attempted to scream out, but because the cat was wrapped around his face the second he opened his mouth to scream all he got was a mouth full of fur. So instead of a scream you got a lot of spitting sounds as he tried to get the fur out of his mouth. The second Dave took a step towards the cat she leapt off Steve’s face and dove out of the room.
After a thorough going over, Steve only had a few light scratches and a little bit of a twitch every time you said Tippy. As everyone calmed down and got ready for bed once again, Dave made sure the door was tightly closed this time. The others had laughed when her face kept getting tapped into the water so there was no telling how far she would go to get where she considered things to be even.
Turns out she was rather content with just biting Steve’s face and calling it even. As I recall, Steve never did bothered her again. In fact I’m not sure he came over much after the incident, just as a precaution.
Sadly, I have no idea what happened to Tippy. We had our cousins stop by to feed her while we went away on holiday one summer. When we got back, she was gone. Our cousins told us that they had not seen her for the latter part of the week. They would come over but fill her dish, but it had remained full for three days in a row. There are many possibilities as to what happened to her.
Perhaps the mothership came to take her home because her race of attack felines needed a champion. Maybe she picked a fight with a person who had a concealed weapons permit who didn’t like the way she was eyeballing them. Personally, I like to think that after four days of not having anyone to terrify and spontaneously attack for the sake of attacking, which she did do a lot, she set out on a walk about to reek terror on the world one Tippy attack at a time. It really does seem like the only logical explanation.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: attack cat and wet cat.
There is nothing more pleasing on the eye than a good “Attack Cat” campfire story. I think the best Cat-tale I have to offer was one of our Cat named Kitty. Why not? Kitty is pretty much a name and a fact that tells friends and strangers that you have a cat and its name is Kitty. Very helpful name if you ask me. Dog named “puppy” or “K-9” is also a good helpful name…unless you are telling a friend about the time you scaled K-9, the mountain, then you might have a little more explaining to do.
Anyway, Kitty was a black-as-night cat with a patch of white on her belly. Before Kitty her name was actually 8-ball, but cocaine addicts ruined that for me. So, there is Kitty stalking her best friend Ginger (my dog) and, so you know, cats and dogs are not mortal enemies. Kitty and Ginger were great friends till Ginger’s untimely demise, a tumor that we had removed came back and took her to Doggy Heaven. Stalking the poor mutt like a starved Lion creeping up on a baby Elk, Kitty was easily the Cato in their Pink Panther partnership.
Ginger came around the corner of the hallway, after munching on some Kibble n’ Bits, and then felt the wrath of Kitty leaping out from the shadows, feet and paws outstretched like a great wind sweeping her off the floor, and wrapped around Ginger’s head like a ravaged pirate ship hugged to death by a giant squid.
Ginger and Kitty rolled into a ball of fur along the floor and, pleased with her sneak attack, soon after Kitty released her grip and sprung to her feet in the attack stance. Ginger was left dazed and confused, struggling to her little feet and shaking her ears from the ringing. The two stared down one another, which ended with Kitty spotting something that was not there and chased after it with a victorious MEOW! Ginger, in true doggy defeat, retreated to her basket and slept it off.
Nice story, thanks for sharing. I’ve never lived in a setting were we had both a cat and a dog as pets at the same time. The ones we had always treated the other animal race as mortal enemies when they would get close to each other. But I know that cat and dog friendships exist because I have seen 100s of photos on the internet documenting that very thing. 🙂