Cat Attack

My concierge has two cats. This one is named Fifi (I think. We’ll pretend he’s a Fifi for the sake of this post):

Fifi is fat and never does anything but occasionally throw up in the courtyard. He sits and stares and stares. He is the laziest cat I have ever met. He will sit in the same place for hours. I could roll my bike over him, and he still wouldn’t budge. I wouldn’t do that though, because I am a nice person and don’t hurt cats.

I can’t even guess the other cat’s name, and I do not have a picture of he/she/it. Even if I did have a picture of this cat, I would not give it the satisfaction of posting it on my blog. I am mad at it.

This is the scardiest cat I have ever met. I will cross the courtyard, and it will dash away as fast as its little cat legs can carry it. It is terrified of people. It is also apparently extremely terrified of innocent American girls who leave their apartments very early to go running.

This is what happened. I left my apartment very early to go running. I was not entirely awake.

There I am groggily exiting the building, and suddenly there is a mass of black fur on my legs. Then it dashes away as fast as its little cat legs can carry it. I am awake now, because a cat just appeared out of thin air and freaking pounced on me with no prior warning. My legs hurt kinda. I look down. There is damage. Cat has managed to drag its claws across my thighs in three separate spots, and things are starting to get puffy and bloody. As I realize this, I shout F*#% CAT! But no one hears, because no one is up this early.

Then I go running and think about how someone should have taught this cat not to do what it did, because nice cats don’t hurt people. Several days later I see the cat again. It is sitting on a green garbage bin. It does not dash away. It stares at me, and I stare back. Staring contest, me vs. cat.

I lose.

This cat is physically and mentally more powerful than me. I don’t like this cat. Fifi's okay though.