The Colonel Got His Butt Kicked For Being A Coward

This is what the Colonel looked like, back when he was healthy, younger and still had front claws. Prior to moving into my current place, his claws were removed, to avoid the fate of the trim and furniture in the old place: being clawed all to hell. The Colonel's outside experience was limited to a deck on the 2nd and third levels of the old apartment building. The third level, just because he liked to climb up the support beam to the neighbors' deck. He was too much of a "fraidy cat" to come down the way he went up. He balked at the idea of me grabbing him with one hand and bringing him down while I hung precariously to the beam with the other hand, wondering if I will be falling backwards 15 feet down onto my back and paralyzing myself. And of course his accidental trip over the railing when he took a bird out of midair and went the distance down to the ground.

Then we moved to our town home apartment where the front door is on the ground level, and the basement has a walkout the back side of the building. The Colonel was at first content with just having more space to move about and more places to hide within the Mookified Compound. After a while, however, he sat in the window a lot, noticing a neighbors dog getting to run around outside in the front yard. Initially I was against letting him go outside, as he was lacking front claws for defense, and probably would be dumb enough to try to play his own personal game of Frogger on the street out front, or on the major boulevard that runs opposite our street a half block away. The Colonel, however, is a real pain in the butt, and more persistent than a four year old going down the candy aisle at the grocery store. He yowled and yowled and yowled... and then he yowled some more. On and on and on it went. I had already had a long day at work, and was trying to relax. I finally gave in, and I opened up the front door. Outside the cat went quickly, then stopping on the front step to assess this new environment called "outside."

He soon made friends with the neighbor dog, as the dog, Cullen, is smaller than the Colonel. That night pretty much did it, and everyday meant trips outside. And most nights he came in, although occasionally you had to find him (usually up about half a block), get his attention, and then he came running and followed along. I believe the Colonel assumes he is like a dog at times.

Well, one night he came in a little slow and awkward. He didn't like being touched, and he wasn't much for eating or drinking. A quick examination found a scratch between his shoulder blades and a wound on his haunches. He had either gone after something a little too big for his britches or it came after him. Either way he had gotten his ass kicked. He got a bath and some antibiotic ointment. He started moving around a little better, but he was definitely still looking and moving about all beaten up, and he was suffering a bit from dehydration and starving himself some.

July 4th came along, and he was really looking horrible. I had to work, but I had my girlfriend come down to my work, grab the car and take him up to my mom's boss, Dr. Jim Bullock DVM, to get him looked over and fixed up.

After visiting Doc, this is just one side of the cat's kicked butt:

According to Doc, another cat had taken the Colonel out. Just a few short years ago, The Colonel won the prestigious "Rentacop of the Year" award for taking down a full grown human being, who just happens to be my boss and a Rentacop Manager to boot. Now, here he is, all beaten to hell by some dumb cat. And not just beaten up, but literally had his butt damn near bitten off... because the coward was running away from the fight.

Now some might try to defend the retreat strategy as smart because he had no front claws. However, as his Commanding Officer who raised him and trained him to be a fighter, I say this is just unacceptable. He's able to do considerable damage with his teeth and his rear claws alone and has proven it plenty of times. This is a shameful act of pure cowardice. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to court-martial him and place the report in his permanent record. May even have to trade him in for a new Executive Officer that doesn't back down to anybody. I'm sure my girlfriend will veto the replacement option though... and the smart ass that she is, just mentioned that I should be glad I'm not writing his eulogy. Friggin women! She turned him into a big baby. I tried to make a real soldier out of him and make him understand that dying in a fight for rightness and the cause of Mookism is better than living the life of a coward, but she has somehow influenced him to think to the contrary. Clearly she must be a liberal softy.