Greetings from Harold the Horror

Hey hun, 

I just sat out on the porch and had the most wonderful lunch with a massive slice of cake. After the shitshow of a morning I had, it was just what the doctor ordered. 

Believe it or not, but Harold is still alive and well, and living in a box under my bed. You know I was not at all pleased when your Grandad brought home that feral cat because “there was a guiding spirit telling him to.”

Now, you know Grandad was not a religious man, but when he found this thing howling around the dumpsters by the bowling alley, he heavens-to-Betsy thought it was the reincarnation of his dead brother – hence the name. Eh, I’ll forgive him; his brother had just keeled over, so it was a sensitive time. 

Heck, maybe he was right because that cat hates my freaking guts – just like his namesake. To be honest, I would have given him to someone else by now if your Grandad didn’t make me promise to take care of him, and if he wasn’t a cantankerous bag of rags with a short shelf life. 

Or, that’s what I thought! Your Grandad died years ago, and Harold was old then, so maybe he’ll outlive me! Usually, we live in a state of peaceful indifference, but today I had to haul him to the vet for all his annual pokes and prods. 

I started out with the “sweet ol’ grannie” number to try and lure him out, which only won me a glare that just said, “F you, lady.” So picture this: your old Grams dressed to kill in an old set of coveralls, gardening gloves, protective eyewear, and a scarf (just in case he went for the jugular), crawling around under the bed like a beetle. 

All the while, Harold was bug-eyed and hissing, but I finally managed to bat him into a cage with a broom. Oh, how hell trembled while I drove to the vet with that freaking demon growling next to me. 

You might think that the vet techs laughed at me, dressed for battle, but they’re well aware of the power of Harold. His file is all marked up in big red letters that say “Aggressive Feline”. They even had to bring in backup to burrito him in a blanket for his shots. I’m sure he’s off pissing in my panties for revenge. 

So, now you see how delightful my lunch was! And now, I’m following it up with a nice, crisp beer. That’s right! A beer before my afternoon beer. Well, I think I’ve earned it. 

That’s the thing about being as old and retired as I am – you can do whatever you want! At least, as long as I avoid that cat for a few days. If you never hear from me again, you can assume that it was Harold who did me in.

Much love, 

Grams and Harold the Horror