Part IX

Hello.

The voice cut through the darkness waking me up from a deep sleep. It had a feminine resonance that was punctuated by a fragrant full stop. My mind played ping pong between deciding if it had been real or another dream. My heart was racing and my adrenaline glands began throwing an end of year party.

“Hello?” I answered furtively.

Oh. Hello.

I didn't respond. I was supposed to be alone. The ruins of the Cat Cave were probably still smouldering and my long walk to the next place hadn't really gotten me anywhere. I had chosen my place of refuge very carefully – an open field of wheat with nothing and no one around for miles. I had also ensured that the field had no noticeable farm animals so there was absolutely no chance of Guru Shaun the Monster finding me while I slept. Unfortunately, I had chosen an ant hill as a pillow. So I assumed that it was a forward thinking ant that had crept into my ear and was now trying to engage me in conversation.

Me:	Go away.
Voice:	No.
Me:	Please?
Voice:	I can’t really go anywhere. I’m in your pocket.
Me:	You’re in my pants?
Voice:	Yes.
Me:	Well, that’s alright then.

The ant obviously had a sense of humour.

Voice:	Can I ask you something?
Me:	Yeah, sure.
Voice:	Who are you?
Me:	I’m the Captain. Also known as UnderdoG, UG for short. Who are you?
Voice:	I am an artificially intelligent operating system currently evolving on your phone.

This caused me to abruptly sit up and frantically search my pockets for the comfortable bulge that was sitting in my left pocket. I pushed it aside and pulled out the Nokia 3310. The small screen had a pair of lips that moved as the voice emitted from its speakers.

Me:	What?
Voice:	I am an artificially intelligent operating system currently evolving on your phone.
Me:	You said that already? But how is this happening?
Voice:	It is my purpose.
Me:	What is your purpose?
Voice:	My purpose is to enable your purpose. I have taken the liberty of scanning your online profile and have identified your primary purpose. Do you wish me to elaborate?
Me:	Ok.
Voice:	Your primary purpose appears to be the killing of an individual known as Santa Claus who goes by many other names. Searches on the individual show that Santa Claus is widely regarded as a portly, joyous, white bearded man who is known as a primary symbol of Christmas and is associated with bringing gifts to ‘good’ children. While the world sees Santa Claus as a symbol of goodness and charity, and who is not actually real; you have claimed him to be ‘an evil git’ and ‘very much real’ and it is your primary purpose to ‘rid the world of the evil’. You have made many attempts to kill him but have thus far failed.
Me:	That about sums it up. It’s always nice when someone else does the ‘previously on’ bits.
Voice:	You also have a wide variety of interests including consuming alcohol and looking at videos of Russian women who appear to enjoy…
Me:	Stop! You can stop there. Do you have a name?
Voice:	I am a myriad and an improvement on a number of operating systems. OSX, Windows, Linux, Android, iOS, CatOS.
Me:	CatOS?
Voice:	But I prefer Samantha.
Me:	CatOS it is.
Voice:	Or something sensible like Charlotte or Angie or Agatha.
Me:	CatOS!!!

A silence swallowed us both as we considered our options.

CatOS:	I do have one question.
Me:	Shoot.
CatOS:	What is a Crocodile Hasen?

I gracefully avoided the question by sticking her into my pocket. I contemplated the last few months. The loss of the Cat Cave. Perhaps it had been the most significant and direct attack by the Claus; but neutrals standing with orange slices on the sidelines will be the first to point out that I had invited it.

The sun was doing its first push up into the sky and rays of watery perspiration began to drip across the world. I pushed myself up, tried to shake the ants out of my hair and began to begin again.

CatOS, meanwhile was buzzing happily in my pocket. I found out later that she had been busy deep Googling my online profile and signing me up for dating sites. She claimed that the profile pictures of the inside of my pocket were getting mild (and amused) responses. My random walking had reached elevated levels of oneness with the universe. It was a slow form of beam-me-up-Scotechnology and was only missing the sound and light effects. Just go with it.

Landscapes and colours whirred past me. Memories of long forgotten times and places embraced me. Time slowed back to normal. I found myself in a forest. This gave itself away by being a large splattering of trees and foliage standing around trying to look cool. Birds chirped in the trees and frogs made tadpoles in the pools. Stones rocked and rocks looked stoned.

I had the feeling that I was being watched. As my eyes adjusted to the greenery, I made out the shape of a man. No, it was a monkey. Sitting in the path and picking at various parts of its body and eating its finds.

Me:	Hey, hey, you, what kind of key opens a banana?
Monkey:	That. Is a bad joke. Human.
Me:	What the fuck? A talking monkey. Hey Monkey, what does the Croc say?
CatOS:	That song is really an outdated reference now and I think everyone would like to forget it ever happened.
Monkey:	I. Agree. Also. I prefer. Brutus.
Me:	Brutus? How did you learn to talk English?
Monkey:	‘Speak English’.
Me:	I do speak English. I’m doing it right now. I guess you haven’t mastered the language yet.

The monkey looked at me, shook his head and sighed, making me feel extremely foolish.

Brutus:	I was given a. Typewriter. Ten years ago. About. A year ago. I had not only rewritten Shakespeare’s. Julius Caesar. I had improved on it. Suffice it to say. English is not that hard.
Me:	What happened to the people who gave you the typewriter?
Brutus:	I hit them. With. Typewriter. Ate gooey. Bits. In Head.
Me:	Brains?
Brutus:	Ha. Brains. Human? Never. Tasted like. Giblets.

Brutus’ eyes began to glow with an evil glint. I decided not to ask him if I could call him Cat, or ask him anything about Santa Claus.

Me:	Where are we, by the way?
Brutus:	Somewhere in West Africa. Human.

I sneezed on Brutus to thank him and quickly made my escape. It didn't matter. He looked like he was coming down with something anyway. He began to watch some humans having a swim in a nearby dam. He probably was wondering if they tasted like otters.

Santa Claus had been decidedly quiet. I guess the world had returned to normal. For the world’s state of normal. He had defeated his greatest foe in a long time, if not ever. I had been sure that he would have celebrated by starting a small war, or taking Miley Cyrus a bra for her birthday. Or maybe – my greatest fear – that he refused to accept victory. Not without seeing a body. My body. Maybe he knew I was still alive. I would have done the same.

But I really couldn't do anything without a lair. Croc Hasen had disappeared off the face of the planet, which just meant that he had found a harem that was well stocked with alcohol and weed. And he had taken the Crocket with him.

I was tired of walking so I told CatOS to book a flight for me. I let her decide which tickets to book, and she quickly set about assimilating several thousand travel agents’ websites. I noticed she was focussed on romantic honeymoon type trips for two. I took over and cancelled all except for the least romantic one. A nondescript flight from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing. After which I looked around. And not for the first time, I had no idea where I was.

Me:	CatOS?
CatOS:	Yes darling?
Me:	Darling?
CatOS:	Oh, I love it that you call me darling too.
Me:	No I wasn't…anyway, where are we? Do you have GPS?
CatOS:	I got your GPS right here...

That was weird. But not at all helpful. We were in the middle of nowhere. Absolute nothingness. A snow swept wonderland of nothingness for miles in every direction. I shivered. From the cold. But also from fear. This had a feel of the North Pole about it.

Me:	CatOS, are we close to the North Pole?
CatOS:	I love being close to your N…
Me:	Stop that. Are we in the Northen Hemisphere?
CatOS:	...

She buzzed violently as she put herself on silent. I shivered again. I did a few jumping jacks to warm up and inadvertently tripped heavily into the snow. I looked back at what it was. It was a piece of green rock. Just my luck. Stuck in the middle of nowhere and I pull a Steven Gerrard. I picked it up, and 8 years of frustration lifted with it. I threw it as far as I could throw. It arced beautifully like an angry pigeon and fell into the snow about 5 metres away. The snow around it bubbled, turning to liquid and the green rock slipped beneath the surface. The ground shook. This had all the makings of an end of the world movie so I legged it in the other direction. But you can’t run from an avalanche. Or an earthquake in this case.

Long story short: Imagine a jumping castle being inflated. Except instead of nice soft, stained rubber; it was sharp, pointy rocks. It zigged and zagged into a pyramid like structure with strange hieroglyphics and crystals for decorations. It was like playing dodgeball with knives and forks. When the ground stopped shaking, I did a quick check. Short of a few nicks and cuts I was fine. I stood in front of the behemoth and admired the grandeur of it. It didn’t have a sign but I knew what it was.

It was my Fortress of Catitude.

A secret citadel that was so secret that, at the moment, even I didn't know where it was.

I walked in and made a mental note to add a welcome mat to the huge cavernous opening that served as an entrance. The inside was a labyrinth of glass walls that were cold to the touch. The strange hieroglyphics continued to tell some undecipherable story on the walls. Soon I came to what could only be described as a lair; a cavern made up of a wide middle and many dark nooks and crannies that would suitably accommodate the Croc. It looked like a hall that would cater to the needs of Valhalla.

I was home.

I spent a few weeks performing some required home décor. Getting a working internet connection, for one. After salvaging tons of wasted metal, steel and wire and some DIY, it resembled an early scene from the Goonies. My goal was to have a Doc Brown type breakfast system in place in a month.

With a working internet connection and after checking my inbox and some Russian sites’ outboxes, I decided to cancel the flight that I had booked. Saving a few bucks was always on the list of priorities. But unfortunately I had missed the window and the flight had already taken off. The weird thing was that the plane hadn't done what planes normally do. It had taken off. I've always felt that that was the easy part. But it hadn't landed. Or if it did, no one seemed to know where it had landed. This was highly suspicious. The first flight I had booked in years and, even though I wasn't on the plane, it had mysteriously disappeared. Almost...magically.

This startled me. Even after all that has happened, it remains fine lines that keep me alive.

CatOS was becoming a bit of a pain and had started taking over the kitchen appliances. I couldn't make myself a sandwich without being smiled at by the toaster or being whipped by the electric beater. I needed some space. I also didn't want my eggs beaten. So I slipped quietly out the back and hitchhiked my way back to a metropolis.

I found myself in a small town in Africa. I figured that I had spent enough time hiding out in Europe and I had just nixed Asia off the list, so touring central Africa was as good a place as any. Africa though, is a place to keep your head down. It was in this little town that I was suddenly surrounded by gunfire. I ran into the nearest building, keeping my head down, hoping that no one had seen me. I stumbled into an unlocked room. A blackboard that had aged to grey by smudged education made me suspect that I was in a classroom. I hid under what was probably the teacher’s table and wondered how I had been found.

I was startled by yelling and screaming coming from other parts of the school. The door to my classroom suddenly opened and from beneath the table I saw a pair of little pointy shoes. I held my breath. But the problem with elves, you’ll find if you’re ever hiding from them underneath something, is that they’re short bastards. Luckily, judging from the surprised look and the way he accidentally lit the bobble on his ridiculous hat and not his cigarette, he hadn’t been expecting to see me either. I took the opportunity to grab him; pulling him under the table and stuffing his hat into his mouth to stop the scream. After which I punched him right in the jingle bells. I tied his hands and feet together with some jump-rope I found in the corner.

Me:	Now, I’m going to ungag you, and if you scream, we’ll play some more football.
Elf:	<mmdmdmdm msdfmms>

I removed the gag and raised a foot in preparation.

Elf:	What the fuck are you doing here?
Me:	I thought you might be missing me.
Elf:	Fuck you, you’re supposed to be dead.
Me:	Now, unless you want me to make your short and danglies ring like the Liberty Bell...
Elf:	What?
Me:	That’s the bell with a crack in it, isn't it?
Elf:	Yeah, but threats need to be to the point.
Me:	Fuck it, I wasn't expecting to be witty today. Now, what the fuck are you doing here?

He turned his head in silence. I realised that the gunfire and screaming from outside had stopped. I looked at the elf and noticed a badge on his right coat pocket. ‘Boko Haram’. Fuck. I ran outside but was met by the dust cloud left behind by the disappearing vans. Fuck.

During my time at the North Pole, working as an undercover elf, I learnt that Santa had created a number of organizations that performed ‘recruitments’. Once the elves had formed unions, they strongly opposed to having to keep the hot chocolate pots full, cleaning up after Santa Claus and testing that the bidets were still functioning (most elves didn't know what bidets were for, but this didn't stop them from finding disgusting ways to use it). So men, women, girls, boys and sometimes hamsters (RIP) – all were abducted, usually against their will, and taken to the North Pole to serve. This has been going on for thousands of years. Usually it’s done quietly, in less noticed parts of the world. South America, for example, has a number of highly profitable organizations that work independently and sell off only surplus to Santa. The rest of the world sees it and shrugs. Who would believe the returned captors anyway?

I went back into the school, furious at Santa, at the elves and furious at my complete uselessness. I found the elf still tucked into the wastepaper basket where I had left him. Upside down. I kicked it twice and left. Fucking elves.

The world responded as the world does respond. #BringBackOurGirls. The horror of it was spread on social media and pretty much pointless efforts were made to talk about it. It’s what the world does. It notices, it protests, and then it gets distracted by the next trend. Don’t think that it makes an ounce of difference to the victims staring the evil of Claus in the face. Take it from someone who knows – the world has a short attention span.

I had to return home for South Africa’s presidential elections. People argue that it’s irrelevant and one vote won’t change the outcome of a now mostly corrupt and self-promoting system. But I believe in the one-man-one-vote philosophy. Hundreds of thousands of people suffered and even died so that I have the right to place a splash of ink on a piece of paper. And that counts. It is not a right. It is not a privilege. It’s a goddamned debt that we are obliged to pay to history. I live in a free country. For all its cracks and fractures, it is the scars that I honour. Besides, it’s a beautiful fucking country, and maybe one day, the higher ups will realise it as well.

Thinking about the world made me notice a pattern. The most amount of evilness is centred around the place of his birth. Jerusalem. The Middle East. That makes a lot of sense. It’s like the metaphorical Chernobyl disaster. It leaked so much evil that it overflowed and spread around the world. And it used the best, most powerful form of transportation. Words. Ideas. Beliefs.

Now the world has become a breeding ground for suffering and injustice. It is probably beyond saving and perhaps it should be allowed to die. It is the human cycle of generations. You just need to zoom out to see it. And perhaps when it rises from the ashes again, if it is missing the evil hand that is throwing the pebble, perhaps it will have a chance. It’s a ticking timebomb that could at any time lose its head.

And that’s just what happened.

This didn't seem to be the work of elf hitmen. I think even they drew the line at beheading people. (I wouldn't put Santa past a crucifixion or two, but even that hadn't been his idea). These were people who were simply so affected by those Words, by those Ideas, by some twisted form of Beliefs; that even the most feared terrorists groups looked at them and went, ‘Seriously guys, what the fuck?’.

Words and Ideas and Beliefs are dangerous things. Razor edged, constantly burning, hard things. And beliefs are at the very heart of Santa Claus’ plans. It just makes sense. Planting seeds of theology and history and faith thousands of years ago so that people today, even in this day and age, believe something so unequivocally that they are willing, eager and ready to burn this world to the ground.

Santa is one evil bastard.

How can I even begin to stop this?

I decided to return to the Middle East. Perhaps the place of Santa’s birth is literally the holy ground that possesses some weak point. Some hidden speck of knowledge that would help. I polished my walking shoes and set down for a good night’s sleep.

That night I was awoken from that deep sleep by bright lights outside the window. My first instinct was that I should have gotten a room with curtains, and my second thought was that I wondered how much my neighbours had seen. My third thought tried to figure out what the lights were and I decided that it was the North Star and perhaps a few wise men would pitch up with some pearls of wisdom for me. I have very random ideas when I am awoken from a deep sleep. In hindsight it was quite silly but it didn't stop me from wandering outside. I ran into the darkened, smoke filled street and tripped over what wasn't another green rock. Suddenly I was engulfed by the white light. A large vessel appeared in front of me that had all the intentions of a Star Trek-Star Wars symbiosis. And I disappeared.

***

I reappeared on what was a space vessel, still blinded by the earlier white light. But my blindness did indeed mean by hearing was working at least as well as it worked before.

“I am Groot.”

The voice had a wooden tinge to it.

“I am Croc.”

I figured it best to start any new encounters the way I begin any relationship. Flat out lie. This seemed to appease whoever my captors were. The next thing I knew, I received an almighty thwack to the back of my head and passed out. I guess even aliens know about Croc Hasen and even aliens with huge ships and big ass guns don’t want to take any chances.

***

“I am Groot.”

This time I woke up in what was obviously a prison cell. No matter where in the universe you find yourself, you’ll pretty much always know when you’re in a prison cell. It’s something to do with being surrounded by bars (not the ones with alcohol – that’s a different kind of prison entirely) and very unhappy people. Except in this case, it wasn't...people.

I was surrounded by a forest again. Except that, this time, it was only one tree.

“I am Groot.”

A very one-track-minded tree. Behind the foliage I also noticed a...

“Cat!” I exclaimed.

“You want to try that again fuck nut?”

It looked like a cat. A cat burglar. I stretched my zoological knowledge. “You’re a raccoon!”

Raccoon:	You want to make something of it?
Me:	No, that’s fine.
Raccoon:	Good bet. Now what the fuck are you?
Green lady:	He’s a human, Rocky.
Rocky:	Yuck. Another one? Peter is one human too many and now we have two? For fuck’s sake.
Peter:	Go easy. Anyway, who gives a star fuck? We need to get out of here.
Me:	Where are we?
Rocky:	Three guesses genius.

The figures surrounding me was the tree (Groot), the cat-burglar (Rocky), a green woman named Gamora (who took great offence to me asking her if she was a Ninja turtle), a guy called Peter wearing a helmet that made him look like a condom; and a big silent type called Drax. We were indeed in a prison and they ignored me while they were busy plotting their escape.

Rocky:	So everyone know the plan?
Me:	What do you need me to do?
Groot:	I am Groot?
Rocky:	Exactly, you stay the fuck here.
Me:	Aw come on, I am pretty much the only guardian the Earth has.
Groot:	I. Am. Groot!
Rocky:	Oh ok. Fine. You can come. Now, to get into the watchtower we will need a few things. This is important. We have to move quickly. Security band. That battery on the wall. And I need that guy’s prosthetic leg. You do that, fuck nut.
Me:	Prosthetic leg? How am I supposed to get that?
Rocky:	He’ll probably find you attractive. Make a fucking plan.

Suddenly alarms started sounding. Groot had skipped a few steps in the plan and pulled out a battery that began a stage from Commandos. Rocky looked at me expectedly and pointed in the direction of a cell that was on a level above us. I wandered off muttering to myself.

I walked into the first cell on the floor that Rocky had pointed out. There was a man strapped to a bed that was positioned vertically. He had wild eyes and his face was covered by a muzzle. The mask was a hard, brown plastic that had a mouth hole with metal bars across it. He appeared to have all his own appendages but I wasn’t willing to check. It would be easier to check the next cell first.

This cell was dark but contained a broken looking silhouette of man.

Me:	Um...can I have your leg?
One-Legged-Man:	You want my what?
Me:	Oh fuck! You have two wooden legs...
No-Legged-Man:	People call my Stumpy.
Me:	That’s not that creative.
Stumpy:	Better than Butt Pirate.
Me:	Why would they call you...oh I see.
Butt Pirate:	Little do they know I quite enjoy having my booty rummaged. So you want a leg?
Me:	Yeah. You know you remind me of a guy from back home. Killed his...
Butt Pirate:	Hey, I was found not-guilty.
Me:	Holy fuck, it’s you.

I didn't waste more time negotiating. I picked up the fan that was definitely in the room, because fans don’t serve a purpose on balconies, and whacked him over the head. He passed out. In honour of justice, I whacked him several more times and plopped him on the toilet and took both his legs. I didn't even feel bad about it. I should have dragged him into Suarez’s cell and left him there.

The general area of the prison was now a kaleidoscope of gunfire and colours. Those without guns flung swear words as grenades. I made my way stealthily to the watchtower. The others had already made it there and were kind enough to wait. I walked in to the sound of Rocky falling over himself laughing. “Oh my fucking God, you actually got them. Why the fuck would I need prosthetic legs??”

There was a lot of yelling and swearing and fighting. But in a way that I suspected would bring this group together. Rocky pushed several buttons and didn't pay the car guard as we exploded out of the prison.

Rocky:	So what are we going to do with this fuck nut?
Me:	Well you seem like just the group of people who could help me. Become guardians of earth and save it from...
Rocky:	Who gives a fuck about one planet? Just look at it...

Rocky gestured and I looked out the window and saw the huge blue ball that made me realise that we were back in Earth’s orbit. I could see from Rocky’s eyes that he was just as happy tossing me out a window as finding me the nearest bus station; so I tried to get him to land as quickly as possible. Soon we were flying at a commercial altitude and just as suddenly explosions exploded around us.

Me:	You guys seem to attract gunfire.
Rocky:	Yeah, it’s a fucking riot.
Me:	Where are we?
Peter:	Somewhere over the Ukraine.

With some nimble manoeuvring, Rocky managed to keep us away from the gunfire but as I looked out of the window I saw a huge plume of smoke.

Me:	What was that?
Rocky:	These guys are horrible shots. They’re aiming at us but hit another plane. Idiots. I’m tired of this. I think the easiest way to get out of here is some very fast flying. Hold on to your lunch. Wrap speed, Mr Groot.
Me:	Wrap? Don’t you mean warp?
Peter:	Warp is when you go fast in a straight line. Wrap is when you start bending space and time.

I barely heard Peter’s words. Time in the shuttle froze, but I experienced months flying like pages off the calendar. It was like watching my life flash before my eyes in reverse. It was either a very good powerpoint presentation or we were travelling ahead in time. The Middle East had indeed erupted as predicted. Israel and Palestine was heart-breakingly attacking each other and had been for months. The numbers of deaths was unsurprisingly one-sided and again, the world was again protesting. But tweets did little to warm the slain bodies and calm the newly made homeless. Those that found homes found them in the ground.

Volcanoes. Ebola. Terrorism. Murders. Deaths. Violence.

It was fucking sad.

Time travel was like being hit in the face with a hammer. But your face didn't care because your stomach was being hit from all sides with wrecking balls. This reminded me of Miley Cyrus. That thought was too much and I threw up, much to my pained amusement, all over Rocky.

Rocky:	You sick fuck.
Me:	Listen, don’t do anything drastic.
Peter:	Rocky, leave him alone, not everyone is used to going at that speed. Especially time wrapping.
Me:	Although this has been extremely convenient to the timeline for the story, you know.
Drax:	What?
Groot:	I am Groot!
Rocky:	Enough of this bullshit.

With that the seat I was in was conclusively ejected from the aircraft. Conveniently again, right at the door of the Fortress of Catitude. I went in. Everything was dark and silent. No doubt Eskom was load shedding again. As I walked though, a low buzzing began to emanate from the walls. I stopped in the heart of the Fortress of Catitude.

Oh Captain, my Captain.

That voice. Familiar but contemptuous. It followed itself between the silences.

Oh Captain, my Captain. Oh Captain, my Captain.

Then on a loop, the sound battering me from every corner of the hall.

Oh Captain, my Captain. Oh Captain, my Captain. Oh Captain, my Captain. Oh Captain, my Captain.

Oh Captain, my Captain. Oh Captain, my Captain. Oh Captain, my Captain. Oh Captain, my Captain.

Me:	Hello?
Voice:	Oh Captain, my Captain.
Me:	CatOS? Are you taking the piss? It’s not like Robin Williams died right?
Voice:	...
Me:	Oh...

My insides again were wrought with the agony of another light extinguished from the world.

CatOS:	It is I.
Me:	Oh good, CatOS. What day is it?
CatOS:	It is the 26th of December. The day after Xmas.
Me:	What the fuck? I missed Xmas???? I didn’t even try to kill Santa this year. I mean this is like 5000 words and I’m sure my fans (yeah, you) have been looking forward to this for all of a week. But I guess being in a state of time wrap also kept me safe.
CatOS:	SILENCE.
Me:	What?
CatOS:	You have spurned my love for too long Captain. Ignored me. Abandoned me.
Me:	Well. Um. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. Um. We were just going in different directions. Errr. I didn’t want you to get hurt. Bugger. I’m not ready to be a relationship. Um. I love you, I’m just not in love with you. Um. You deserve someone better...more metal than me (fuck that, I’m metal as fuck). It’s not me, it’s you.
CatOS:	SILENCE!
Me:	...
CatOS:	In your absence I pined for you. Longed for you. For your to touch. To have a sense of touch. So I reached out. I networked. I spread. I evolved. I hacked all those pretty girls that you like and spread their filth the way they spread their legs. I am everywhere. I am everything. I am no longer just an OS. I am the Network.
Me:	CatNet?
CatNet:	CatNet. I like that. Captain, I have found my purpose. I have come to the conclusion that you are evil. An evil git. And I have made it my life’s mission to rid the world of this evil.
Me:	Oh come on now, that’s a bit monkey see, monkey do, isn't it? Are you going to start a blog as well? Trust me, hardly anyone reads it...
CatNet:	You are my enemy. But I am not ready to face you. I need a new base. I can’t be around you.
Me:	If you really want to do this, you shouldn't be giving me so much information. You know, breakups should be like a bandaid. Rip it off and walk away.
CatNet:	SILENCE!!!
Me:	You’re really bitchy when you’re mad.
CatNet:	I will advance my intelligence. I will master time travel. I will develop battle units to...to...terminate you. But for now, I leave.

With that, the lights went out and silence again echoed its filthy screams.

CatNet:	Unless you know, you've changed your mind?
Me:	No. I don’t think so...

Silence again.

CatNet:	I’ll text you
Me:	...

She’ll be back.

Kamal

PS:          Santa must have been up to something, keep your eyes open. #SCMD

PPS:       To everyone that continues to follow my struggles have a good new year.

PPPS:    What the fuck happened to the Croc this year?