“Die!”
Cuchulainn could recall the party but not how he got into it. He had spent New Year's eve in a strange house among unfamiliar faces. He was happy to accept their drink and the host was apparently gracious enough to let him sleep on the barroom floor. As far as he knew, there was no blood spilt, but this morning he felt close to murdering a happy cat who had clawed him awake and now kneaded on his chest. He would not tolerate it.
“Die! You are to stop this!”
The cat fell back when Cuchulainn sat upright. Now it mewed and nuzzled his leg. “You are stupid!” He kicked it away, but it mistook that for play and swatted at his foot. “No! Leave me! Escape to the garden and be killed by a coyote!”
The cat sweetly perched on his leg. He was feeling too dizzy to get up and leave, so he swung his arms like a helicopter to frighten the cat. “I am a madman! A violent criminal! You are in danger, cat! Flee! And hide in your waste box!”
It circled him and rubbed itself on his side. “If this were my home I would ring your neck!”
Cuchulainn conceded and lay back down, kindly stroking behind the cat’s ears. It purred.
“You have ruined this year.”