The Brat Cat

I have eleven new scratches on my left arm.

They’ve all drawn blood, most notably a deep three-inch wound across my forearm that continues to bleed even after I washed it out and applied antibacterial cream.

That’s where my cat latched on in his determination to register his displeasure.

What could prompt such action? Was he terrified by something, reacting violently out of instinct? Did he lash out at me because I was abusive? Did I accidentally step on his tail?


Buddy was angry because, while he has almost the entire run of the place, one room usually remains off-limits to him. A single room!

So tonight, after meowing and complaining, the little lunatic ran full speed into the living room and launched himself at me, latching onto my left arm and raking his claws against my skin. One second I’m reading, the next I’ve got nine or 10 pounds of angry cat doing an impression of a paper shredder on my arm.

I know it was a brat move because of his “I want it now!” whimper as he clawed me, and because he’s done the same thing many times. Without fail, it’s because he’s not getting something he wants.

“I’m just a sweet little kitty-cat. Look at me! I’m harmless! Look at my cute little face, do you really think I’m capable of what I’m accused of?!”


There are phases. Bud could be a good boy for two months, the image of a well-behaved cat, then one day I won’t give him any more treats because he’s already had too many, and he’ll complain with his “But I want it now!” yowl as he’s biting down on my feet.

Or maybe he wants to go sit on the balcony, but I don’t let him go out because I’m leaving soon and I can’t just leave him unsupervised on a balcony only 18 feet from the ground.

And sometimes it’s just because Bud sees I’m getting ready for bed, and he doesn’t want to go to sleep, so he launches himself at me with claws extended and teeth ready to chomp down.

Over the years I’ve had a few girlfriends tell me I’d be a great dad. Stupidly, I believed them. Now I’m not so sure. If my cat is a legendary brat, thanks in part to his disposition but mostly because I dote on him, what chance would my kids have?

Well, it’s half to dinner o’clock. I’d better get on that quick, or Mr. Scratchalot is going to give me matching tattoos on my other arm.

2 thoughts on “The Brat Cat”

  1. Gizmo here: Hey Buddy. so sorry your Big Buddy is lying about your sweet nature. My Momma doesn’t understand why I like to chase that “intruder” cat she calls Cow and tells everyone lies about me. Dude, we will stick together, OK?


    1. Buddy can’t reply, he’s in time-out. I will pass along the message some time in 2022 when he gets out. 🙂 Just kidding…shortly after the incident he came up to me all purring and sweet and fell asleep in my lap. He really does think biting and scratching is no big deal.


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