From now on I will call him Jerk. In my book “jerk” is a really bad word. As a kid if I called my brother a “jerk” I got soooo yelled at. “Asshole” was okay but “gaylord” and “jerk” were totally unacceptable in my house. It was the 80’s people…..yes we used that strange word, gaylord.  I didn’t know what it meant then and I still don’t. But it was totally off limits and apparently highly offensive which I why I used it often.
Jerk, the black stable cat.
How sweet, how cuddly! The stable got a new kitten! After a lovely day of riding we all stood and watched the new kitty play.
There had to be at least 5 of us standing around chatting and oohhing and ahhing at the new fuzzball the stable had adopted.  Being that I was the only one in the group allergic to cats he naturally decided to make figure 8’s rubbing and curling himself around my legs, all the while looking up at me all sweet and demure.
Instead of purring at me graciously because my boots were acting as his scratching post he decided to lunge his entire body from the floor onto my quadricep.  Like a broke Vegas stripper to a pole.  Like an exotic dancer….he had claws, but real ones- that hurt…not french tipped acrylic ones. His sharp claws sunk into my skin right through my jeans.

He hung on for a few good solid seconds while I mentally attempted to grasp onto what was happening to my soft skin underneath the denim. I usually like to brag that I have reflexes like a cat, not so much this time. Ironic.
After a few moments of pain I finally figure out I should probably shake the fucker off.

I did, furiously, as everyone stood around in horror that I was being so mean…. then they laughed at me. Apparently it was hilarious.
That was our first meeting.
I have avoided that bully since.

Every time I go to the stable I am usually with a few people. Today I was alone. Perfect for Jerk, fully grown now, to get close to me.
He did.
Except this time he was like Anthony Hopkins in the Silence of the Lambs…taunting me.
He wanted to break me down mentally.
As I was tacking up my horse he decided to bring me a present.
A dead mouse.
A really cute, grey and white, fluffy one. Like Despereaux but dead as a doorknob. Floppy and dead. In his mouth.
What a jerk, right?
See!!!! I told you he was a jerk.
At this point I fully expected this lunatic to fling it at my head.
Instead….he swatted it around…threw it in the air like a volleyball, whacked it with his paws, rubbed it in the dirt, launched it skyward like pizza dough. Poor little mousey.
(Don’t tell anyone but I sorta threw some rocks in his direction…I swear I didn’t hit him. I just wanted to make it stop.)
Stop he did not.
He ate it.
In front of me.
Well, he ate the head and left the guts.
He gnawed off the head I should say. Thanks Jerk! You really made my day.
This photo is Jerk cleaning his paws and licking his chops after the murderous rampage.
Why do people like cats?