...And Then a Rat Bit Me!

It was a straw that spelt the end
For our dromedary friend--
A bullet for the lion; for the bear, a trap;
And for me, a fuckin' rat.

Stella, darling, dearest; Stella, my treasure, my pet, bite me one more time and you're finished. Done for. Mince in a pie, with a parsley garnish. What's that? No, I am not offering you a mince pie--so you can take that twitchy nose and go somewhere else. Bite the couch. Bite the curtains. Hell, open your jaws like a Chinese dragon and take a bite out of the world--just do not bite me.

You bit me, Stella, seven times today:

First, you bit my face, as I lay sleeping. You bit me where my hair meets my forehead, leaving two bloodied pinpricks above the hairline and two below. But it was my fault, for dozing off while you were playing, so I forgave you.

Second, third, and fourth, you bit my right big toenail. I didn't even know you were biting at first, there being no nerves in toenails, and all--but then you started to pull. You pulled and pulled and pulled, using that overstuffed arse of yours to brace yourself against my desk. When I got wise to your game and scraped you off with my left foot, you bit that, right between the first and second toes. That's five bites. Five bites, Stella. Are you keeping track?

Next, you bit my hand. I was feeding you at the time. Don't they have that whole caveat against biting the hand that feeds you in Africa? Or is it just you? Man, that was rude. One minute, you're sitting there like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, eating plum slices off the palm of my hand. You had both cheeks stuffed full of 'em. That was three whole plums you had in your mouth, all told--and yet, and yet, you ungrateful little prat, the minute the fruit ran out, you went for my finger. You know, I could've flicked your nose, just then. It was right there in front of me, and heaven knows I had the motivation. I was tempted. Sore tempted.

Before I could get you, though, you ran away. You hid behind the television set. You were being nice and quiet, so I figured you couldn't be getting into too much mischief, but, boy, was I wrong. There you were, making that cute little squealy noise of yours, and glazing the floor with sticky spat-out plum juice. I'd swear I saw you spreading it around with your hands. And then, when I grabbed you to put you away, you squoze loose and scraped your teeth down my ankle. I'm not sure if that was a bite or a scratch with teeth, but one thing's for sure: it was very messy.

Next time you bite me, Stella, I'm going to take that precious tail of yours, or maybe one of your great swivelly ears, and pinch it like a pimple*. My nails to your skin, Stella. My nails to your skin.

While we're at it, I've one more bone to pick with you: to wit, my dinner. The food I put a) in your cage, or b) in your mouth, Stella, that's your dinner. The food on my plate, that's my dinner. You are not to encroach upon my dinner. Encroaching, in this case, may be defined as follows:

1) Jumping up on me, my chair, my desk, my plate, the windowledge, or any elevated object in my general vicinity while I'm trying to eat;

2) Crowding me in the kitchen while I'm trying to cook**;

3) Making loud squeaky noises while I'm trying to eat, especially if I am also trying to read, watch TV, or play video games;

4) Engaging in any type of conduct that infringes upon my enjoyment of my dinner, or my dinner-time activities. This includes, but is not limited to, the rattling of cage-bars, the throwing of food or paper on the floor, and the pulling of sad faces. You are very fat, Stella. No matter how sad and pathetic you try to look, you are not going to convince anyone you are starving.

Finally, in parting, I'd just like to say that it is never, ever acceptable to piss on my feet.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

* I'd bite you, but, come on--you're filthy. You sleep with chewed-on breadcrusts. I'm not putting you in my mouth.

** Cooking is already very difficult for me. In certain cases, such as the preparation of eggs and other explosion-prone foods, it's even dangerous. Your presence underfoot is not helpful.