The man was locked in a brutal psychological war against a nine-pound enemy with whiskers, and he was losing.
He absolutely despised his wife’s cat and decided it was time for a permanent extraction. He bundled the feline into his car, drove twenty blocks away, dumped it in a random alley, and sped home. But as he pulled into his driveway, the cat was already sitting there, casually licking its paws.
The next day, he doubled the distance to forty blocks. Same result—the cat beat him back.
Frustrated, he decided to go completely nuclear. He drove miles out of town, executing a dizzying maze of turns: a sharp right, a left across a hidden bridge, a double loop around a roundabout, and another two miles deep into an unfamiliar neighborhood. “Good luck finding your way back from this,” he muttered, dropping the cat and tearing away.
Three hours later, the phone rang in his house.
“Jen,” the man asked, his voice trembling with exhaustion. “Is that cat home?”
“Yes, honey, he’s right here sleeping on the rug,” his wife replied, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
The man groaned in utter defeat. “Put that furry little demon on the phone. I’m completely lost and I need directions!”
