Devil Inside

... or the post that makes you stop reading Mickelino's blog...

Inspired by the Mary Poppins’ post where Delicious Babsbitchin’ tells us how she flew for the first time, I’d like to tell you one of my childhood embarrassing stories as well. I’m not really proud of it but what the hell, I have a nice ass™ so I don’t care what you think. (god I’m starting to sound like Babs too! Babs have you entered my body or what?).

I must have been 5 years old. My parents used to work late so some ugly lady would pick me up at the Kindergarten and would bring me back to her place until my mother would show up around 6 o’clock. Her apartment was on the sixth floor of a modern building. She lived there with her hippy husband, her 2 kids, her 45 noisy birds and her 300 cats (at least, ok slight exaggeration, have to say it’s an exaggeration or Rhino won’t believe me again!).

I hated the place, it was very dusty and smelt of cat piss and bird seeds. I especially disliked those cat creatures that would run between my feet and begged for my 4pm hot-chocolate and cookie snack. I don’t know why I disliked those cats so much since now as an adult, I’m actually quite fond of those small animals, but I just did and I constantly had the urge to hurt them, and make them understand how ugly and disgusting they all were. I can’t explain. I must have been a 666 kid (call me Damien) or something and then Satan just left my body later, not finding it interesting enough. (that’s also what some of my boyfriends did but later, the devils…)

But at the age of 5, Satan was apparently still a tenant in my little brain and made me his messenger to deal with Pillipop’s fate.

Pillipop was the family’s favorite cat. He was grey … or brown, I can’t remember. But he was very tiny. And if I saw him tiny through my 5 year old’s eyes, believe me, he must have been really small.
One day, as Pillipop was crawling between my feet, purring all his affection on my calves, I silently grabbed him by the neck, the part where you can hold cats without hurting them, (so compasionate of me) walked towards the window, opened it and threw the little brat through the window.

Yes, I threw Pillipop from the 6th floor.

Now I don’t know how a 5 year old manages to open a big window, but I just remember throwing the cat and feeling very pleased.

Rather satisfied with myself, I returned to my 4pm snack and sniggered.

A few minutes later, Ugly Nanny called the cat. I don’t remember much but I know she sounded worried. I was slowly drinking my hot chocolate while she was running all over the place. Pillipop was nowhere to be found.

Then a terrible feeling of anguish overwhelmed me. Satan must’ve just left my body and my freed brain was telling me now how bad I had been.

I felt bad for days and refused to go back to Ugly Nanny as I thought the other cats would’ve had time to plan revenge on me and above all, I couldn’t stand seeing the sadness and pain on Ugly Nanny’s face. I was a criminal. At the age of 5.

Convinced that I would go to a kids prison where they only showed black & white Eastern-European cartoon.

A few days later, Ugly Nanny told my mother how Pillipop must have jumped out of the Sixth floor as a neighbor had found him downstairs, alive and kicking, just stumbling a bit. Isn’t that amazing? she said.

I told this story to my parents a few years ago only. I don’t think they believed a word of it. Since then I’ve been extremely scared of heights and can’t stand hot chocolate.

… and now I want a cat.

… and I live on the fourth floor.

meow...