The Cat Came Back

I got the song stuck in my head earlier today, and I always found the song mildly disturbing anyway,so basically that's where the idea came from. I'm actually kind of happy with this piece, even if the voice could be stronger.
Oh, fair warning, it contains some violence and "strong language"

It was the cat. Always, it was the fucking cat. His wife had loved them, the fury little devils. Loved their sinister slanted eyes and superiority complex, the more neurotic they were the better.
I had put up with it too, while she was alive, because she would have been just too crushed had I turned away even one of Ir stinking projects. When she'd died though, tragic accident, could have happened to anyone, so long as they happened to work for a fucking little subcontractor that got its best contracts from AT&T for servicing phone lines on the wrong side of nowhere and treated their employees like day old shit. Maybe if that someone had been given mediocre equipment and insufficient training and told to service lines that were twenty years old, oh and maybe if they'd been told to do it double time or don't bother showing up the next day... Accident, yeah.
At least I'd been able to get rid of the cats. All of them but one.
It was the big tom that had been her favorite, rough as they come with one raged ear, of course that was the one that gave me the most trouble. He kept popping up at the most inopportune times, like he knew when I wanted to be left the fuck alone, or when the situation was extra delicate. He even came around to the funeral like it was him that was the gods damned widow, not me.
It was the grin that got to people, the grin that made 'em uncomfortable. He had this scar, got it in a fight way back, who knows when, so far as I know he always had it, anyway that scar it was on his right cheek and it just sort of tugged at his lips so he was always sneering. He'd walk around with his mouth hanging open too so you got the feeling there was some joke somebody just said, only you'd missed it because you had an actual fucking life you know?
What do cat's do all day anyway? Laugh at us, of course. Only thing is, with the tom you could see it.
I tried everything on him, electrocution, and hanging, and drugs. Introduced him to my therapist even, when it seemed like I couldn't drive him out myself. Didn't fucking take though, he's the fighter, always has been. These days he's a killer.
There's a guy, see, worked at the corner store, he got to know me a bit. I'd say hi, going past there, and how's the kids? He'd say fine, and still theoretical man, what can I get you? And we'd leave it at that. Only, the other day, I went into the store while the cat was with me.
He didn't like that much, and the tom didn't much care for him. He told the cat to leave, said he wasn't comfortable having the cat in the store. The tom, it hissed back, said it had claws and would go where it pleased. So the clerk says he'll call the cops, and the tom, he gets gone; quick about it too.
Only, you don't get rid of the tom that easy. He came back, he always comes back, and he waited 'round the corner for the clerk to close up, came on him all of a sudden, and his claws extended, spring loaded, and he cut the clerk's throat; the left carotid artery, clean around to the right. The tom doesn't play around, see.
Thing is, I haven't seen the cat since he did that number on the clerk, but I know he isn't gone. I stand at the window and I look out at the street and what I see most is my reflection. Then the sun starts to come up, and the reflection it fades, and at last all I can see is my lopsided grin.