The cat - again

We thought we were getting an inside cat when we adopted Rascal, the cute little black and white ball ‘o fur. He likes to eat inside, and sleep inside, but he would much rather be on the streets with his posse than chasing mice in our house. He slips outside every chance he gets to meet up with the neighborhood toughs, and when we try to call him in, he acts like he doesn’t know us. (Kind of like when you take your teenager to the Mall..) But, boy howdy, better not let that food bowl get empty! Then he starts yowling like the 3 minute warning on a missile launch! But he and I are not on the best of terms; I don’t like being shredded like cheese when he wants to ‘play’ and he does not like my foot up his BLEEP. So we have a wary truce, which I would NEVER violate.. Voluntarily. Paul and I left the house yesterday morning on the way to the Salt Mines. Paul opened my car door and up popped Rascal, stretching and yawning, evidently sleeping one off in the front floorboard of the car. I shooed him out, because we were a little late. I got the seat belt on and shut the car door suddenly when a 7.0 magnitude earthquake hit! The car was rocking back and forth and the noise was like a thousand fingernails on chalkboard with banshees singing backup! I peered over the edge of the car’s open window, expecting to see a gaping hole full of molten lava. Instead I saw the cat, clawing through the cold steel of the undercarriage like a chainsaw, ricocheting off the ground and the side of the car like a blurry fur covered pinball, and screeching his lungs out because I had CLOSED THE DOOR ON HIS TAIL!! ‘What the BLEEP!’ I quickly opened the door and he was gone in a flash. ‘Oh my gosh! Is he alright? Where did he go??’ I asked ‘I bet he is 2 counties away by now!’. Paul nodded toward the corner of the driveway. ‘There he is, by the fence, convulsing’ he said as he started up the car. ‘Oh no!’ I cringed. Paul just laughed. ‘No, just kidding, he’s just sitting there.’ As we pulled onto the street, I looked back toward the house. There was Rascal, peeking out from behind the fence, shaking his furry little fist at the retreating car.
I didn’t even know cats HAD middle fingers!