Mr Whiskers Must Die ...

Now, I'm an animal lover, not in a sick twisted bestiality way. But I've always had pets growing up as a child. But when it comes down to it, dogs are better than cats, for many reasons. Dogs are loyal, trusting and can attack anyone breaking into your house, unlike cats. I don't hate cats, but I do hate Mr Whiskers. Let me explain who Mr Whiskers is, and how my hate was built up against him and how I tried to kill him.

I was introduced to Mr Whiskers through my girlfriend; Lisa. Mr Whiskers was Lisa's cat; she got him from her gran after she sadly passed away after a freak stair lift accident. The chair flew up the stairs at 100 mph and Lisa's poor gran was ejected out the seat, out the window, into a motorway and hit by a lorry. Of course Lisa was really upset by this and when her mum said they were going to have to put the cat down as nobody wanted it, Lisa soon rescued it.

At first everything was fine. When I went around to Lisa's I would pet and feed Mr Whiskers all the time. But as time went on, the more Lisa's love grew for Mr Whiskers the more his hate grew for me. Maybe he saw me as a threat to him. I know it is hard to tell if an animal hates you or not, but Mr Whiskers has done plenty of things to lead me into thinking he hates me. Such as taking a shit in my new trainers, which he did on purpose, he has a litter tray, which he does not even use because he is trained to shit outside. Of course I didn't smell his shit, I discovered when I was about to nip to the shops for a few beers. I slipped my bare foot into my trainer and heard the squelch, the cat crap was pushed threw every tiny hole in my trainer. This caused me to throw up all over my other (cat-shitless) trainer. I washed the trainers but I could still smell the cat crap, so I got rid of those trainers, even though I loved them very much. I viewed this trainer’s incident as a one off accident, until the Mr Whiskers began what I believed to be an all out war between me and him, with Lisa being caught in the cross-fire.

Mr Whiskers would start to randomly attack me. Usually when me and Lisa were being intimate. Once he jumped on my back with claws out, causing me to elbow Lisa in the face and breaking her nose. Of course she viewed this as my fault. This is just one example. Mr Whiskers also mastered a skill of running between my legs when I ran downstairs leading me to fall over my own feet and fall to the bottom of the stairs.

Mr Whiskers would also try to out do me, as we both raced to Lisa's heart. I would buy her gifts such as flowers or chocolates, which she often thought was done out of guilt for something I had done wrong, which was never the case. So my gifts were often seen as some sort of attempt to get on her good side. Lisa would usually turn her nose up at what I had bought, but when Mr Whiskers killed mice and birds and brought them to her she thought that was cute. I tried to make peace with Mr Whiskers, I treated him great, but he continued to attack me. So I decided to fight back!

I hatched a plan to kill Mr Whiskers. Now I'm not a violent person, far from it. So instead of stomping on his head, I decided to poison him. Plus it would be hard to explain to Lisa why her cat's brain was all over my trainers. My plan was simple, put four grams of MDMA in Mr Whiskers' food, which would surely cause him to OD. Now many drug users may see this as a waste of good MDMA, but this was the best plan I could come up with. So one day I put out Mr Whiskers food and mashed up the MDMA. Along came Mr Whiskers to eat his food. A small while later, Mr Whiskers gets a bit 'crazy'. He begins to run threw the house making noise like he was dieing; I began to question what I had done. Lisa was starting to worry, especially when Mr Whiskers was climbing the wall, literally like a spider, then he crawled across the ceiling like the baby on Trainspotting! As I looked at him above me, he dropped, landing on my face, claws out. I let off I massive scream as he clung on and began to bite my forehead. Lisa panicked and in a bid to help me she picked up a fire poker and swung it at Mr Whiskers. But just before she struck him, he jumped off leading me to take the brunt of the fire poker. As I collapsed to the floor holding more head in my hands as the blood poured out my face, Mr Whiskers darted out his cat-flap. I went to hospital to get a few stitches. And we did not see Mr Whiskers for the rest of the week.

So imagine my shock when I found Mr Whiskers back in the kitchen on Monday morning. I thought he had ended up dead from the MDMA, but no, that did not kill him. And I was starting to feel bad for what I'd done, that all ended when I saw him again. I should have taken care of him then, instead I yelled upstairs to Lisa to tell her he was back. So was so excited. I thought I'd forget about killing Mr Whiskers, until he started to attack me again, worse than before. He knew it was me behind his 'crazy episode’; he wanted to make my life hell. So it was back on!

I spent all my free time thinking of ways to kill this cat. I'm not ashamed to admit that it turned into an obsession. But it had to look like an accident. That was the most important thing; I did not want to lose Lisa because I killed her cat. I mean, I was doing this so we could get back to how it used to be, before her gran died and this demonic feline made its way into our great relationship. I started to look at Mr Whiskers actions to see what I could capalise on.

My second plan was to lock the cat in the washing machine and drown him. Mr Whiskers had a habit of sleeping in small spaces such as wardrobes, draws and the dryer, so it made sense to kill him this way. I'd do Lisa a favour by washing some of her clothes while she was at work, this was a great plan. I was doing her a favour, but had accidentally killed her pet. So once Lisa had set off to work I put a few clothes in the washing machine, then I took a towel and jumped on Mr Whiskers while he slept. As I wrapped the towel around him he began to try and fight out. With a little luck I kept him wrapped in the towel and I stuffed him into the washing machine and quickly closed the door and turned it on. Inside the washing machine, he escaped from the towel to see me threw the glass in the door just as the water started to fine the machine. It was hilarious to see him trying to escape the water, but for him there was no where for him to run. As the washing machine went around I could see his limp body twirling around and around. I didn't watch all the time, I watched for about five minutes then turned on the TV.

I waited for Lisa to return from work so she could discover Mr Whiskers in the washing machine. And she did, she walked in the kitchen and saw the washing was finished, she thanked me for doing it and opened the door and began to pull the clothes out. Then I heard her say, "Oh my God..." that was it, she'd discovered him, "... are you alright?" Then I heard a meow. That sound sent a shiver down my spine. She reached in the washing machine and pulled out Mr Whiskers, although he was soaking wet he was still alive. "Ben, it looks like Mr Whiskers was sleeping in the washing machine when you put the clothes in. We'll have to make sure he's not in it in the future. That sure was lucky!" And it was, lucky for that fucking cat. Lisa didn't think I'd done this on purpose, she'd see it how I'd planned it. She'd seen I was doing her a favour and Mr Whiskers had climbed in the machine and accidentally been washed, it all went great, apart from the cat not dieing.

After that I went back to the drawing board, to see what else I could do. It didn't take me too long to come up with my next plan. Mr Whiskers loved to play with the window blinds in Lisa's front room, usually he play with the bit of string used to open and shut the blinds. This little string what soon become the end of Mr Whiskers. My plan was simple; wrap the string around the cat's neck and hang him, Saddam style, if you can kill an evil dictator that way, you can kill a domestic feline that way. So one night as we headed off to bed, I made an excuse to go back downstairs. I heard Lisa climb into bed and I went into the front room while Mr Whiskers slept on the window ledge, lucky for me, unlucky for him. I took the blinds cord and tied it around he neck, not waking him, then I pushed him off the ledge causing him to fall the string tighten. As I walked out the room, leaving him tangled up, I could hear his weak breath. I went upstairs and slept like a baby. Until I was woke by Lisa, telling me that Mr Whiskers had had another accident, getting caught in the cord of the blinds in the living room. But he was fine! She'd discovered and rescued him.

Of course, after three failed attempts I was starting to doubt my cat killing abilities. And I started to look at any objects around Lisa's house that could be used to kill Mr Whiskers. My fourth plan was a spare of the moment thing. Lisa's large auntie had come to visit. Lisa's aunt has a inflatable doughnut to sit on because she has piles. So I saw my chance. Lisa welcomed her auntie into the house and they went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, while they did this I lay a blanket over a napping Mr Whiskers and put the inflatable doughnut on top of that. When Lisa and her aunt came into the room, cups of tea in hand they took their seats. And Lisa's aunt did not feel a thing. We chatted for about an hour then Lisa's auntie had to make her way home. As she stood up and pick up her inflatable doughnut she noticed a lump under the blanket. As she lifted the blanket she saw the lifeless body of Mr Whiskers. "What have I done?" she shrieked, "me a massive favour" I thought. She bent over and went to pick up the cat, until Mr Whiskers shot up and bit her hand. Lisa and her auntie exchanged some banter, but I was too busy fuming to take in what they had said. The cat had survived a 15 stone woman sitting on him; it was going to take a lot more than this to kill him.

I went back the basic stuff, what animal hates cats; dogs. This was barely a plan. It was just a desperate attempt to put a violent end to Mr Whiskers. By now Mr Whiskers was more cautious when sleeping or napping, due to the fact I'd been trying to kill him as he slept. So I changed my attack plans. Instead of being in Lisa's house this time, I was on her street, late at night waiting for Mr Whiskers. Around 2.00pm I saw him; I snuck upon him, grabbed him and quickly fixed elastic bands to his legs. Leaving the front two stuck together and the back two stuck together. I stuffed him into my backpack and walked to the other side of town. This plan was taking him out of his element (Lisa's house) and was much more violent than any plan before it. I went to my friend Dave's house; I wasn't going to enlist his help. I was going to enlist the help of his two Staffordshire terriers. I waited outside Dave's house and when nobody was around I opened my bag, grabbed and Mr Whiskers and threw him into Dave's back garden. I smiled as I heard the dogs bark. I zipped up my bag and made my way back to Lisa's house. But as I returned, who was on the doorstep ready to greet me; Mr Whiskers! I have no idea how he survived, got away or managed to find his way home before me.

To be honest, I was now getting really desperate and finding it hard to come up with ideas to kill Mr Whiskers. Another spare of the moment idea came about when more of Lisa's family came for a visit; Kyle (her younger brother) and Adam (her cousin). They came to Lisa's house because to do things they couldn't do at home like get drunk, smoke weed and shoot birds with their pellet guns. Of course they always invite me to do some shooting on Lisa's back garden, but in the past I turned them down because I'm not the type of person that kills innocent animals, but times have changed. So this time I joined them. Of course, Kyle, Adam and Lisa all thought I was a bad shot, but what they didn't know is I used have a pellet gun was I was young and stupid and I'm quite a good shot. The idea is simple; I'm such a 'bad shot' I accidentally shoot Mr Whiskers. This was a daring move to be honest. I'm about to shoot Mr Whiskers with Lisa watching, hoping she'll believe it was an accident. But I was done caring this cat needed taking care of, once and for all. So we shot at some birds for a while, I was missing them on purpose and Kyle liked to rub it in that I was a terrible shot. They were falling for it, hook, line and sinker. So when I saw Mr Whiskers walking along the wall at the bottom of garden I took my aim and shot, telling them to look at a pigeon flying passed. As the pigeon continued to fly off, they then noticed Mr Whiskers looking dizzy then falling off the wall. "Oh shit!" I shouted. We all run up to the cat, blood was seeping out of his head. To be fair to myself, it was a great shot. Adam dropped to his knees and began to give the cat mouth to mouth. After about two minutes Mr Whiskers came around. Lisa told Adam he was her hero. I was expecting a serious fight, but it never came, probably because her family was there. Once Adam and Kyle had left, I was waiting for the argument, but it never came. Lisa told me that I should never pick up a pellet gun again, due to the fact I'm useless with it.

I waited a few weeks before my next attempt; I didn't want Lisa getting suspicious. There's only so many 'accidents' a pet can have until the owner notices there's something going on. And I was lucky to have made it this far.

So after a couple of weeks had passed, I decided to expand on an early attempt. The washing machine idea was great, but the cat didn't die. So I thought I'd use the basis of that plan but step it up a gear. I've always had a fondness for microwaves. I'm lazy so microwave meals are a must for me. But now my favourite cooking appliance was going to become my murder weapon. For this plan I would place a meal in the microwave, get Mr Whiskers to follow the meal into the microwave, but I wouldn't be the one to 'pull the trigger' this time. I'm going to leave it to Lisa. So everything was set up, I called Lisa into the kitchen and I put the kettle on. I asked her to put the microwave on for me, which she did. So a few minutes passed and the microwave finished, Lisa opened the door, and found Mr Whiskers. Now we all know that any pet will die if you put it in a microwave, but not Mr Whiskers. It's unexplainable. I was not even shocked this time, although I was surprised he'd eaten my meal. Again Lisa told me to be more careful in the future.

By this time, Mr Whiskers was no longer attacking me, he had stopped along time ago, but I was still hell bent on killing him. Everything was going great with Lisa, and the cat wasn't coming between us anymore. There was no cat shit in my trainers. There was no reason to kill Mr Whiskers. I'm not sure why I was carrying on my plans.

My next plan wasn't a plan at all. Me and Lisa had spent the night in watching DVDs and drinking (heavily). When Lisa had passed out, I saw Mr Whiskers and went a bit crazy, I picked up the fire poker (the same one that Lisa hit me with) and began to beat the pussy. I crushed his skull, I broke everyone of his legs, and he was dead. I put him in a plastic bag and buried him in the back garden. Then I cleaned up the mess. I wasn't going to say anything to Lisa; I was just hoping she'd think he'd run away, who could blame him if he had done? I climbed into bed and went to sleep. And sure enough in the morning I woke up with Mr Whiskers sleeping at my feet.

Someone once told me cats have nine lives, I never used to believe it, until my experience with Mr Whiskers. MDMA, washing machine, being hanged, fat bitch, two dogs, pellet gun, microwave, beaten to death ... he'd come back from it all. How else can you explain it? I count that as eight lives he's lost. So there's one left, but I'm too tired of killing him. My final plan is simple; wait him out. He's an old cat. Mother Nature will take care of him soon enough. I'll live longer than him; he'll be dead before me. I will get to piss on his grave. So I'm in a constant cease-fire with him. I still hate the little bastard. He no longer hates me. I'm the type of person that holds a grudge. And trying to kill him was a good hobby.

Mr Whiskers must die, and one day he will. But not as a victim of mine.