Portrait of the Cat as Schizophrenic.

I was bitten by a mad cat once. I felt his pangs dig in right on the meat of my palm. I sat on the floor of my headwriter's house to pet him, the new cat they just adopted. Then the fangs. I tried to get my hand back but he wouldn't let go. It took two guys to separate him from me. I slinked back to a corner of the room, shocked. He was shocked as well. I like to think of myself as a cat person, and cats do love me and allow me to stroke their fur or whatever. But that time was different. There was blood, there was anxiety. There were two gay guys nervous about rabies screaming at me. I was told the cat was disturbed. He was a white, three year old Persian, and his previous owner didn't take care of him that much. Once, a chandelier fell on him. If I were a cat and I found myself suddenly enclosed in broken glass, I too would be disturbed.

Sanity calms. But madness is more interesting. [ via gmt+9 ]