I awoke at about 5:30 this morning to one of my dogs (the hunter/killer one) outside barking like someone is trying to cut her fuckin� head off. This was awesome because of two reasons: One, it�s fucking SATURDAY, and I should be enjoying some oversleep instead of screaming at Asshead. Two, Asshead is a Basenji-mix and I was told at the pound that those fuckers don�t bark. They�ll stalk and kill small children and lions, and climb the fuck out of a tree, but no barking. She�s barked before, but never this loud for this long (it�s closer to 6 by the time I finally go outside and haul her ass back in). Our other dog, Dingbat, is still snuggled in bed with the girl, and his taken my pillow. Sneaky bitch.

The Girl went off to work at about 9:30 and Asshead went back outside. Sure enough, that little snatchface starts right back up with the barking. I�m not so worried about my neighbors hating me so much as I fear for the life out of whatever she is so vehemently threatening, because her rapid-fire bark is something like:

HeyyoumotherfuckerI�llripyourfuckinglungsout!

I�mfuckingseriousI�mgoingtochompyourfuckinghead!

I get outside and see that a good portion of bark has been ripped off our giant locust tree, meaning Asshead was trying to climb it, and there�s a fucking CAT about 20 feet up in the branches.

A fucking cat.

Because Asshead and Dingbat are both jumpers, my backyard is only missing Concertina wire to look just like a prison camp. I�ve got wire fences that no cat should be able to get over.

Not of importance now, I guess. My main concern is how to get him down and on his way. So, I get my ladder, extend it to its full height (about 18 feet), and brace it against the tree.

Keep in mind I just got up. I�m in my underwear, with my fuzzy houseshoes on and I�m climbing 20 feet into a tree to get a cat. That�s when logic kicked in� thank god.

I got back down and called animal control.

They said, �Oh, they�re not going to get a cat out of a TREE, you�d do better to leave some food out and let him come down on his own.�

I replied, �Sounds great, but it�s not my goddam ca��

*click*

Fuckers hung up on me.

No problem, I�ve got some tuna here.

You�re realizing now that I�m not a �cat person.� I like cats if they like me, and cats don�t fucking like humans, so fuck them all.

But, I�m such a compassionate motherfucker that I�m going to do what I can.

Tuna in place? Check.

Cat interested? Mmmmm� Tentative check.

Dogs locked in house? Check.

I make breakfast, do some housework, change the water in all my fishtanks, and then check on that damn cat.

Hasn�t moved a fucking inch.

I�ve got the laptop fired up, let�s do some research. Hmmm. Seems nobody will come get a cat out of a tree anymore. Awesome. Seems that the food trick only really works if the cat likes and/or trusts you. Double awesome. That furbag is 25 feet up in my tree and I have two slathering killers clawing at the window. Oh yeah, there�s LOADS of trust going on.

If that four-legged-meal-for-my-dogs doesn�t trust me anyway, I may as well just get up there and try and spook him down. Sounds good, right?

I�m up on the ladder with my hockey stick and I�m trying to herd that mongrel down the branch he�s on. Yeah, worked, great. Tubbytabby comes down the branch right? And straight up the next one� 5 feet higher.

I suck it up. I�m going for trust now. But I�m not stupid. Well, not grotesquely stupid. I�m coming prepared.

I throw on a thick Carhartt jacket, gloves, and stuff a pillow case in the pocket (figure I can try and bag him), and climb up into the tree.

My pussy ladder only gets me up into the branches surrounding Fleabagbitch, so I have to climb the rest of the way. I did this shit as a kid, right? Yep� about 140 pounds ago. I�m now the weight TWO of the kids that I was when I did this shit and have about half the tree-climbing ability. I get up there anyway.

I get up next to the Aloofamosity and, get this shit. He comes toward me. I put my hands out, and the fucker puts his head in between his paws.

He wants me to fucking PET him. Trust apparently gained.

Shit, I may not even have to smear myself in tuna.

I�m tentatively perched on a couple of branches and can barely reach him. I keep the petting action going, like I�m on a second date, and work my hands under his front legs.

Ummmm� nope. Mewlingmongrel ain�t down with that.

More petting I guess (I�m ALWAYS too eager when petting).

Slow and steady, and I�ve got ahold of him. He�s bracing his legs on the limb and fighting me, but I�m strong yet surprisingly gentle, and I get him into my arms.

Sweet, now to get down.

I can cradle the shedmachine in one arm, but the going is slow. I get a little too eager (again with the hurrying) and my foot grazes just enough of the branch below me to knock my fuzzy shoe off, scrape the fuck out of my big toe, and knock the ladder almost off of the tree.

So, I�ve got one foot straight out on a limb, one dangling, a cat under one arm, and I�m swinging on the other, and I�m thinking, �maybe I don�t want to be Jackie Chan, this shit sucks.�

The one foot is giving me a little help so the one arm isn�t slipping, but I�m still pretty fucked. Well, me or the assbreath under my arm as it�s one or both of us going to do some proving of the law of gravity. But, I still look like a ninja tarzan and that�s always pretty cool.

Dangling 20 feet above the ground with no plan is not cool, however.

I�m feeling guilty as a Catholic right now because I just got the little ball of claws to like me and now I have to drop him. Christ, he�s even fucking purring. PURRING. Dumbass has no idea he�s about to take flight.

I look around for a �soft� spot in the grass to drop him and I see it� shining like a beacon on a foggy night�

The hammock.

Shit man, in the old fire-fightin� days they caught people out of windows with similar contraptions. Hell, I�ve seen the Norman Rockwell�s, I know.

I loop my arm down so the little purrbox is draped over it, with no claws attached, and, while trust is still firmly intact, I toss him.

*chkkksshh* Pilot to Bombadeer� Pilot to Bombadeer� Bombs away�

While he�s for sure thinking that being a bomb is so not fucking cool, he lands on the hammock, it gently absorbs him, and he calmly plops down to the ground. He gets his bearings, turns to lick his ass, and sees me, still dangling.

I swear he gave me a look that said, �thanks, but you�ve never done this rescue shit before, have you? Needs work.�

Ingrate.

With my confidence level soaring (I just save a LIFE, you know), I scrambled quite monkey-like back down the tree to the ladder to the ground, only losing my other shoe and scraping the fuck out of my OTHER big toe.

Now, I have two bleeding, throbbing, big toes and a cat who now hates me.

That�s when the I�llkillyouandfuckingeatyou symphony broke back in against the window and Unthankfulbitch smoked straight to the miniscule hole in the fence that he must have come in through. And he was gone.

And not one of my neighbors saw a fucking thing.

I should get a medal or some shit, and I don�t even know who�s goddam cat it is.

Christ, I�m gonna let the dogs EAT the next one.

Fucking cats.