Lucky

One green eye, one blue eye, all white, deaf, and I want to say dumb, but I know otherwise. How did I get dickturd? One cold winter day, Shawen Jr., then abo. 12, let him run in Rita’s (Jr.’s grandma’s) house. He weighed just four pounds or so, had frost bite on his ears and nose, worms, and some kind of gross skin condition. He didn’t come out of his padded cardboard box for weeks.

Over time he gained strength, started fighting with Venus (Shawen’s other cat), and rekindled his habit of meowing for food, constantly. Shawen did not like this. Suddenly, I had a new cat. Seven or eight years later he’s still here. The mewing persists and he won’t seem to go away.

He has a killer instinct. He wants to kill most living things besides human, only because we feed him. There is this cat that would come around all winter. They would fight – claws scratching, hissing and spit spraying, fur on all ends flying all over – through a glass door.

The other day they had the opportunity to go at it for real. I was busy trying to clean up the other cat's pee (Shawen's cat), and I accidentally left the door open. Since it is warm, Lucky meandered out. The cat was around. The next thing I know I hear cats yelling and hissing, but it broke up quick. I went to shut the door when I noticed blood splatter on the porch. Lucky fucked that cat up. He still has his claws. Don’t worry, I saw the cat yesterday. Lucky tried to jump off the porch to fight with him again. The cat is fine.