I love my cats.
We have two, one is two years old, and we’ve had him since he was a kitten. The other, and the subject of this post, is a twelve year old animal we adopted eight or nine years ago. As any pet owner will likely tell you, I could talk about my cat’s idiosyncrasies and personality quirks for an extended period of time, but the quirk that’s relevant today is his love of chewing plastic. You know the kind that covers most DVDs or Blu-Rays when you take them home from the store, that occasionally covers certain food packages, and that also is used in the ever useful comic book bags.
Can you guess where this is going?
A few days ago I came home and noticed that one of them, and I had a very good idea which one, had decided to indulge his fascination with chewing on plastic on one of my comic book bags. This isn’t entirely new; normally he would just chew the corner of an unsealed bag; and while that’s annoying, it isn’t really harmful to the bag at all because you can still seal it just as well with a few teeth marks in the flap. This time, however, the plastic addicted furry terror had decided to chew half the bag and most of the board within it.
That wasn’t the frustrating thing, however, as ultimately he just cost me less than a quarter.
What was far more frustrating was that this wasn’t a bag and board waiting for a comic to be placed in it (as I have been known to prepare ahead of time), this was an already bagged and boarded comic that the ingenious plastic addicted creature had dragged from a shelf that is (usually) out of his reach and notice before he proceeded to have a feast in the middle of the living room floor. And I don’t mean a bit of a nibble, I mean a full on chew fest on the bag that probably lasted a good hour judging by the damage (he doesn’t actually eat the plastic, mind, he just likes to chew it.)
By the time I had come down the stairs that fateful morning and had seen the destruction, the foolish animal was in hiding (and by hiding, I mean laying on the couch about ten feet away from the scene of the crime); but the damage had already been done.
Half of the bag and part of contents were chewed up like yesterday’s chicken.
As I wandered over to the bag and board, I could see the comic (an issue of the latest Moon Knight series I had been rereading the night before and hadn’t put away) poking out of the shredded bag, hidden as it was face down on the floor covered by the remains of it’s protective package. I sighed. Fighting the urge to find the cat and shake my fist in anger at his nefarious comic destroying ways. As angry as I was at the tubby creature, I’d never raise a hand (or foot) to him – hitting an animal is, frankly, a cowardly thing to do – but I was ready to gesticulate angrily at him and subject him to a solid thirty five minutes of Punishment Snuggle which as a cat who isn’t all that willing to be held all that often, he absolutely hates.
That was until I noticed the he had chewed around the bloody comic.
My tubby ball of plastic addicted laziness had dragged the comic from it’s resting place, and chewed half the bag and a good portion of the board within without actually touching the comic within.
As you can imagine, I was somewhat relieved.
Whether it was a happy accident, or a willful act of love for comics on his behalf I’ll probably never know (it was probably more to do with the fact the comic wasn’t plastic, let’s be honest here), but I don’t intend to give him a chance to answer my question.