Let me introduce you to Zamba, the sole reason I don’t trust cats.
Behind those eyes lies pure evil.
Zamba belonged to my ex-girlfriend, and when I first met him, we became fast friends. Zamba was a very young and destructive cat, so my ex’s roommates kept him locked up in her bedroom all of the time. I tried to play with him as much as possible because I assumed his rambunctiousness came from being locked away alone everyday. As I soon found out, though, his demeanor actually came from something very different – his extremely vindictive personality.
Cats like Zamba make me glad felines haven’t evolved opposable thumbs and learned to drive yet, because if they did, they would be that guy that speeds up when you try to pass him. I’m pretty sure they cough up hair balls only to see if you’ll clean them up since, well, you already shovel their poop. I promise you I’m not paranoid. It’s just that Zamba made me not hate but fear cats. He was so intelligent about the ways he got back at me.
He, of course, loved me at first, because what cat doesn’t love attention? I became something more special than a human. I was a fleshy play toy with the way I constantly entertained and petted him. After a while, though, he started noticing that I kept his owner away from the apartment more and more. I even dared to take her attention off of him when we were there. He simply would not stand for this, so he concocted a plan.
I thought, "Oh. Does he feel bad for hurting me?"
His Answer was a resounding no. I couldn’t get over how strange it was for Zamba to look me in the eyes as he pushed my phone to the floor, but I didn’t think he was out to get me. Only a crazy person would think that, unless of course, he was to do it again.
A few days later I was hanging out with friends in the living room. I realized I had forgotten my phone in the bedroom so I went back to get it. As soon as I opened the door, I saw Zamba sitting on the bedside table beside my phone again. He then stared me down for a few seconds and shoved the phone to the floor.
I figured it was very weird how he kept doing this so I placed my phone on the footboard and stood next to it. Zamba immediately noticed the opportunity to take part in his new favorite sport of phone tossing and casually walked down the bed towards me. He looked up at me straight in the eyes, then placed one paw out without ever looking down and pushed the phone off again.
It became very obvious that Zamba either had something out for me or my phone so I just needed to be more careful about placing it down. Zamba soon caught on to my plan, though, and hatched a new scheme.
...and then terror struck.
What seemed like 200 pounds of pure feline tactical missile came barreling down onto my phone knocking it straight across the floor. I’m still surprised that I kept my pants clean through all of the fear, not to mention a little upset that I’m so ill prepared for a ninja attack. My shock in that moment didn’t last long, however, since I finally thought I’d seen enough of Zamba’s phone tag.
Zamba seemed to make amends, though, as he used his nose to push the phone back towards me. Maybe he was just having fun, and I didn’t understand. Maybe he used to have a toy that looked similar to my phone. Maybe a cell phone killed his mother. I just couldn’t know. Well, that is, I couldn’t know until I picked up the phone, and he suddenly jumped in my lap, stared me down, and knocked it to the floor again.
This was war.
That night, as I lay in bed, I kept one eye open. I just knew he was out there plotting my demise. I didn’t see him anywhere in the room, though, so I got suspicious. When I rolled over to see if he was sneaking up the opposite side of the bed, I noticed that someone had turned on the bathroom light. Neither my ex nor I had been out of bed, so Zamba must be responsible. Had he finally evolved thumbs? Would that mean my chances of survival had gone to zero? I couldn’t answer any of these questions running through my head, but I tried to imagine what Zamba was doing in there.
After a few minutes, I saw the door swing out a few extra inches. He had finally prepared himself for the kill. I pulled the covers down tight and braced myself, when suddenly; Zamba shut the door back closed, erasing what little light was streaking across the room. I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was smarter than I anticipated, but it was okay. I had prepared for the darkness that now surrounded me.
Very faint traces of light still poured through the blinds whenever cars passed down the road beside the apartment. I thought these moments of vision would be my savior, but instead they became more like a scene from a horror film. I first saw Zamba as he ascended the dresser by the door, staring out from behind a stack of books.
Then the lights went out. Once another car passed, I saw that he had advanced to the foot of the bed.
Then the lights went out again. This time, though, I felt a sudden tug on the covers toward the foot of the mattress. I knew it meant Zamba had landed on the bed and was now preparing for whatever plans he made. Another car passed, and I saw him there by my feet, just staring at me blankly.
Then, I waited. It seemed like forever that I just sat there with him sitting by my feet. I guess he wanted to make me anxious. More than likely, he just got lost in thought about catnip or salmon or theoretical physics – you know, cat stuff. Finally, however, a car passed, and I saw Zamba with one paw in the air and all of his claws showing.
I’d like to point out that Zamba had clawed my feet before while I slept on multiple occasions. He always seemed to do it playfully, though, since he never used much force. He was just that kind of cat, but playing was not even an option tonight. He brought down his paw like the hammer of Thor. I couldn’t move my foot in time, but I didn’t exactly want to move it.
I figured Zamba would go back to something that he knew annoyed me so I put on socks with plastic pieces inside to prevent his claws from scratching my foot. They worked like a charm, but I forgot to think about what would happen if Zamba’s claws got stuck in my invention.
As it turns out, that would have been a good thing to investigate. Zamba immediately got stuck in the cotton on the socks and politely asked be let free. Wait. No he didn’t. He’s a cat. Zamba instead decided to freak out and try to run away wildly without even considering the human being currently attached to his paw.
He ran with all of his might while I tried desperately to set him free, and by try I mean flailing back and forth. It turned into something like a giant meowing metronome as each of our efforts counteracted the other.
About that time, my ex woke up and screamed, “What’s going on here!?!” She managed to wake up just in time to see Zamba fly across the room and hit the wall like a disappointing piñata.
I thought I had killed the poor cat, so I instantly ran over to where he hit the wall only to find him missing. Then I looked up at the bedside table and saw him there, staring at me angrily.
Then for good measure, he pushed the phone down one more time.
In the end, it’s likely that all of this was just Zamba’s way of playing, but I can never be sure. Maybe he saw too many Bond films while he was alone in the room and thought he was supposed to sport a scowl any time he wanted to get my attention. Maybe my phone had become possessed by a demon and he was secretly trying to save my life. Maybe he’s just a cat, and I’m just a human, and this was all normal. I don’t know. I still like to believe, though, that he had some plan to get rid of me, and I somehow survived. I managed to thwart the great cat murderer, but whenever those opposable thumbs show up, I’m officially done.
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