The other day I lost my truck key. I had taken it off the bigger key chain for some reason or another, and within five minutes, it wasn't where I left it. The last thing I remember when I walked out of the room five minutes before was one of our cats, Wurther, sitting on the floor watching me intensly as only cats can do. I soon discovered his treachery.
To make a long story short, the little bastard hid my truck key and even after thoroughly turning the house upside down, I could not find it.
I ransacked the place - I checked the laundry, under the beds, the litter box, the couch - you name it. This process was enlivened by my frequent threats of graphic physical violence, the impact of which was somewhat mitigated by the fact that the recipient insisted on licking his ass and gazing at me with supreme indifference while I promised to rend him limb from limb.
Three hours later, after having resigned myself to a fate that included me having to eventually consume him for sustenance, I wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water.
As I rounded the corner from the living room, I heard a telltale jingling. I found Wurther sprawled on the floor with one paw under the fridge, apparently intent on shoving my keys even further under that appliance. With a guilty glance, he sprang up and fled. Not to be denied my revenge, I raced after him, snagged him and introduced him to the delights of my showerhead until massive blood loss (mine) and concert-volume howls (his) forced me to desist. Drenched and thoroughly pissed off (both of us), we spent the remainder of the evening ignoring each other.
At 3 a.m. he crept up as I slept, bit my nose really hard and when I opened my mouth to scream, he began to purr furiously and licked my teeth (every bit as gross as it sounds). A truce was declared.
Not that I doubt his devotion to me - he really is a nice cat --but I’ve learned to keep my truck keys hanging on the hook on the wall just the same.