My best Fiend

In a few short weeks (a week and a half) I'm moving out of 107 St. Marks place and making my way north through Bed-Stuy and into the venerable Willy-B (Williamsburg, hipster not historic). Before I do this I want to address a particular fixture of 107 St. Marks Place #1. No, I'm not talking about the fact that the hot and cold water handles are reversed in my bathroom, I'm talking about Nugget... my nemesis.



(This is an actual, undoctored photo)






Many of you have made fun of me for my deep distrust of Nugget. Some have commented that my fear of the cat somehow makes me less of a man. You who mock haven't been subjected to the terrors of living with him. Go to the survivor of the Texas Chainsaw Masacre and say "Leatherface isn't so bad, you're just a p*ssy".
In detail, living with Nugget is exactly the same as living with a roommate who has schizophrenia and a violent streak. For instance one time Nugget was sitting in the middle of the living room. I picked up my shoes off the floor and Nugget, in a fit of rage, ran and wrapped his front legs around my leg and repeatedly bit me. Another time he bit Dave's face because Dave was petting him, and he'd grown tired of it. He drew blood one morning when I was walking back from the kitchen to my room and hadn't paid him enough attention after feeding him. Come to think of it, one of our first altercations as roomies was when Dave was visiting his parents and I was feeding Nugget. I put his full bowl of food down and he bit my hand... hard. Quite literally Nugget bites the hand (mine) that feeds.
Now Nugget isn't all scratching, biting and drawing blood. Sometimes he's really sweet. When I watch that show... um, you know that 70's show. What's it called?
Get it?!? Like I couldn't remember the name... but that is the name!!!
Anyway, when I'm watching that he'll come over and lie next to me and put his front paw out. If I touch his paw he'll bite me, but if I leave well enough alone we're fine. He'll even let me pick him up now, something that Dave can't get away with. Sometimes I hear him purr. But all of these gestures of docility are merely weighed for their effect in getting my gaurd down. Whenever I think we've hit some point of understanding between us and that maybe, just maybe the violence will end... Nugget bites me.
So when I move next week and leave behind 107 St. Marks place, Dave and my landlords Joe and Lizzie, I'll also be leaving behind the worse pet I've ever co-habitated with. Nugget I hope you die at an early age in a painful way. You're a little bastard.