He hates buggies. Even when they are in the game Centipede.
So, tonight I let the cats out in the garage, fuck knows why they like going out there so much. I have no idea. The garage is closed, and the items out there include:
- My car
- A water heater tank that I'm donating to the Milker's haunted house on 88th street
- Painting supplies
- Moths
... erm, OK, I just solved why they want to go into the garage so much. I wish I were kidding, but no, I figured it out typing this list.
Anyway, the garage has a high enough ceiling where the cats can't get the moths unless the moths do the following stupid shit:
- Float low enough in the garage for the cats to get them (this NEVER happens)
- The moths get adventurous and decide to enter the house. My house!
When that happens the cats are on more-even terms. I live in a bi-level abode, and therefore, there's light globes at what is essentially ground level, the next step downward to danger, if you will.
Well, the cats split up. One of them sits up-top, swiping at the moths as they come up from downstairs. One sits on my frigging stomach, effectively "out of play."
The other is Boggit.
Boggit is on the ground floor of the arcade room. Tonight, a moth tried divebombing the floor of the arcade for some inexplicable reason, and Boggit pounced! He clipped it!
He then chased it to the area where the litter is and "got it." Boggit hates buggies, you see.
Then he fuckin' proceeded to eat the goddamn thing. Gross!
***
Fast forward an hour. I'm still waiting for the game "Prototype" to finish downloading through Gabe Steam, hoping that people searching for it on Twitter read a tweet of mine and get off the net, so speeds are faster for me. I leave the office to get some more Crystal Light when I see Boggit pawing at something underneath the Mr. Do! game.
Because Boggit has been a good boy, a good buggie-killing boy, I pick him up and hold him right in front of my face to tell him what a good boy he precisely is.
At that moment he yawns.
And before I can turn, I look into his maw.
And see the disgusting and gooey remains of a half-eaten, completely common Miller moth.
...
... And I don't possess the vocabulary to describe this horror. I guess I'll just go with -- Jesus fuck!
