Me vs. My Sister's Cat: Who would win in a fight?
You wouldn’t let your mailman scratch you everyday for a decade. Why is my sister’s cat any different?
BY: NOAH FARBERMAN
Photo taken by invasion of privacy. Photo by Noah Farberman // THE UNDERGROUND
Being stuck inside for months on end is getting difficult. A lot of my outlets are gone, as I’m sure they are for many people. I’ve spoken to dancers without studios, gym rats without gym mats, and gamers who don’t understand why they’re more depressed now even though nothing has changed for them. The fact is, without our outlets we start to get weird. Whether it be a feeling of over-collected energy, or that your social battery is empty, there is a necessary absence in the world.
But what are we supposed to do? I tried running, but it’s never been for me. I’ve always been a swimmer, but that’s not really an option right now. And eating out helps with stress but without an income I’ve been finding cooking at home to be an essential new part of my lifestyle. For me, it’s gotten to the point that I can only get work done outside of my house.
Maybe that’s the answer, then. If I can’t leave the house, it might be time to make the house a place worth staying in.
For almost a decade, a silent war waged between myself and my sister’s stupid cat. Though the battles had remained vocal and one-sided, on many occasions my sister’s stupid cat, Mikki (named after that song “Hey Mikki you’re so fine”) attempted to escalate the brouhaha into a physical scenario. He had even successfully swiped and drawn my blood many times. No longer could I stand by. Like my dad once said in a completely irrelevant context: “Sometimes you just gotta let them fight.” Well, the time came. If kitty gotta scratch, Noah gotta scratch back.
Mikki sizes up his opponent from the comfort of someone else’s bed. Photo taken by Noah Farberman // THE UNDERGROUND
The rules.
In order to ensure that the results of the fight were conclusive and, more importantly, accepted by both parties, we needed rules. Here I will highlight the rules agreed upon by myself and Mikki, the cat.
First, and most importantly, for me, nails must be trimmed before the fight. Initially, I proposed a willingness to get declawed if Mikki did as well, but we eventually settled on a trim the evening of the fight.
Second, and most important for Mikki, no weapons. I already had opposable thumbs and over a hundred pounds on him so I agreed to that one without discussion.
Additional rules:
The winner can only be declared when the loser either dies (Noah) or runs away and hides (Mikki). We considered letting the cat use nine of his lives but after we did the math (I only weigh about 6 times as much as him) we settled on just letting him run away as a symbol for a first death.
Avoid scratching or damaging face or lower body. Aim to keep action between neck and hips. Arms and legs are fair as well. This is just a civility thing, fighting is already such an animalistic (no offence cat) activity so we wanted to try and regulate it best we could.
No referee or documenting the fight. It’s illegal and horrible for a cat to fight a human. There are millions of actual cat-laws but more importantly, trillions of unspoken cat-laws preventing feline pets from engaging in registered fights with their owner or owner’s families. Because the intent of the fight is to settle things between the cat and I, there was no need for anyone to confirm the victor (Compromise: Noah is given permission describe the events because Cat’s don’t read online publications) (Clarification by editor: MOST cats don’t read online publications).
Mikki considers the implications of paw-to-sword combat. Photo by Noah Farberman // THE UNDERGROUND
The Setup.
Prep is a big part of fighting. Both in terms of physical preparedness and event scheduling. To help clarify I’ll first talk about how I trained, and how Mikki trained, before going over the where and when.
When I’m preparing for a fight my day starts at 8:30 AM. The first thing I do in the morning is read my daily aspiration out loud. I will then jog to the nearest coffee shop where I’ll buy one hot coffee and one cold coffee. On my walk home I’ll drink from both, alternating hot and cold, until I get back to my house at which point I’ll combine the remaining coffee from both into a single mug, which I’ll then crack an egg into. After the egg, I also sometimes add spinach or kale. When I’m done making my coffee-egg-salad-soup, I pour it right into Mikki’s litter box. Stupid cat can’t do anything about it. Then I do twenty push-ups, ten jumping jacks, one burpy, and attend my lectures. I’ll usually start this regiment three weeks before a fight to ensure that I have enough time to regain my muscle-memory (if you were ever an athlete, then it stands to reason that your body is used to a certain amount of force and exertion, so even when you get out of shape, your body, muscles especially, still hold onto that old exercise groove somewhere and just need to be reminded of that) and then some. For the cat fight, I gave it a good month.
Mikki’s training is pretty similar. He’ll get up every morning at 8:30 AM and scratch on my door asking for breakfast. While I’m pouring his breakfast he practices swiping at me. Later, when I’m opening the front door to check the weather, he’ll sprint past me and escape the house. Outside, he will sit on the front lawn (I am tempted to allude to his stoic, almost zen-like, nature. I won’t, if only because I don’t like or respect him) eating grass for twenty minutes before begging to come back inside where he will immediately throw up the grass. The rest of the day is spent napping or scratching couches. Mikki never stops training. He’s been maintaining this exact same training regimen for his entire life (again, his zen stoicism tempts me to anthropomorphize, but I will resist!).
Training is great and all, but without a time and place we’re just one angry human and one possibly angry or possibly playful cat.
We settled on a common area: my living room. At nine AM on the morning of the fight, I cleared the couch and moved the carpet, I then set up a border for the fighting ring made out of my sister’s pillows and textbooks. The fight was scheduled for Six PM that night.
Emotional Arc.
This wouldn’t be a fair fight if one of us didn’t go through a heavy emotional journey while the other relaxed or drugged up. Unlucky for me, Mikki had quite the narrative brewing over the course of our prep. It turns out that he was involved in some catnip scandal, he was hooked on the stuff and didn’t even realize it was a drug (Fine! He was stoic! But only like Jim Morrison or Doc Ellis, in that the drugs opened his doorway, man). Poor cat lost ten pounds, gained ten pounds, lost ten friends, gained ten friends, and learned a whole lot.
All I learned was that I probably shouldn’t go easy.
Mikki stands between his owner and his food bowl, mistaking lunch for training. Photo by Noah Farberman // THE UNDERGROUND
The fight.
Lasted only a few minutes, but any sports movie fan can tell you that a few minutes is all you need for a great third act.
We started with a bow, a gentleman’s recognition of the other’s ability and needs. Next, we shared one last meal of tuna and still water. Then it was time.
I made the first move, picking the cat up and throwing him into the TV. Mikki bounced off the flatscreen and landed upright… on my face! It was on! I bodied him over and over while he tore a hole in my stomach. I had half expected him to not be as coordinated with his nails, but years of training gave him scalpel precision. After a few swipes, I was gushing. I decided I needed a pin position, a way to break some skin without taking too many more hits myself. Using my human strength, I flipped the cat onto his back and kneeled on his leg paws. Then I pinned his right arm paw with my elbow and when he swiped at me, I used my pinning arm to grab his left arm paw. With my free left arm I started to punch. Once in the face to let him know I don’t respect him then a few more times in the stomach.
And then the front door opened and my family walked in. After I asked them to calmly explain why they were yelling, I learned that they were very unhappy to see their grown son literally fighting the family cat.
I guess what I learned from the whole ordeal was that just because it seems like a cat is angry there is actually no way to know. Cat’s have no concept of human culture and assuming the logic behind their actions is what anthropologists would call “dumb” (if you want to get weird, yes, they can recognize and predict the actions of their owners but it’s all memory and habit-based).
In the end, no winner was declared. But there were some losers on both sides. My parents lost respect for me and my sister still has to live with and take care of that stupid cat.
