..:: Kellog ::..


Saturday, April 16, 2005

Cat Nipped

This weekend was supposed to be a non-clubbing one, with us planning to go rock-climbing on Saturday and staying over at my parents' and being a good boy and girl on Sat night. But we bumped into people at the kopitiam downstairs, and couldn't resist having some people over and eventually popping by Zouk just to check it out without the idea of staying too long. It turned out to be a funny night out though, where we met 3 random boys that I initially thought wanted to pick a fight with Patrick, but ended up with one of the funniest conversations outside Zouk. One of them called Pat Einstein, the other called him Bob Marley. One of the boys had awesome punky blue hair and blue eye-liner to match. Very Bowie-slash-punkrock. I like.

I have confirmed that the cigarette smoke at clubs is the likely cause, or at least a strong aggravator, of my chronic cough, because after many days of coughing badly, I finally felt I was somewhat recovered. But just 10 mins in the club and I was wheezing away like a season smoker. Damn you all, damn you all to hell.

I digress from the intention of this post. So we finally get back to the house at about 2am. I showered and blissfully got to bed first. But Pat woke me up from my beautiful sleep, asking if I had seen the cat.

Fuck. So I got up and he's already opened all the cupboards and searched all his favorite hiding places. Still no cat. Bloody hell. As much as I hate detest am not a fan of that cat, it'd kill me to see Patrick without his fat bastard. So I got Pat to leave the house for a cat search. He automatically went downstairs to look, my first guess too, because that fatty would never bring his fat ass up the stairs.

But since Pat was already going downstairs, I went upstairs just in case. 2 floors up, and still no cat. I was debating whether to go up one more, thinking that the fat ass would never make it up that far. But I went anyway, and voila! Sitting outside the door where our flat would be, only on the wrong floor, is the Fat Bastard. I hissed "GRACIELA!" (his actual name) and ok, it was one of the very very very rare moments that I actually felt for that guy. He probably snuck out when we had people over, went downstairs to look for food or something, decided to head back and forgot which floor he was at, so he ended up on the 9th floor, sitting outside the door he thought was us, wondering where the hell we were for 2 hours. That kinda impressed me because it meant that he actually knew where the flat was, and not just going by smell or something. He just couldn't read what floor he was at.

He really was quite happy to see me, and I of him for the first time ever, only because I knew Pat would be so happy. So I carried his lard-ass back down to our flat, and went down to get Pat. Oh, his face when he thought his cat was gone was just heart-wrenching. "I found your cat!" was such a lovely thing to say at that point.

*rubbing hands with glee*...ohhh, kellykelly has definitely chalked up some solid brownie points!!
kellykelly, 4/16/2005 08:54:00 am


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