BEEP, BEEP BEEP! Unnggh...

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP! Another day...

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP! Ripped me out of my dream of a cat bringing roses to a dog in the middle of a burnt and blackened meadow. Perhaps I should tweet that?

Rolling out of bed, or should I say the slab of  mattress that counts for a bed in my best friend Dave's basement. My eyes are still shut, not wanting the possibility of being forced into a staring contest with the hungry, mischievous eyes of a rat or the sighting of a scuttling cockroach. But as the BEEP, BEEP, BEEP's were rising to a crescendo, I relent to the forces of the real world and face bland empty concrete.

My arm drapes over the alarm clock, snapping out the electronic chirps that were stirring the local rodents. 

Most days, I would have slumped back into the Desolate Meadow Dream, snoozing into the late hours of another dreary and tedious afternoon.

But today will be different. A special package shall be arriving this day. The knowledge of that alone was like a lever, pulling me to my feet. Scrambling up the splintered wooden stairs up, I pushed  through a bleachy fog that behaved as an attempt to cover up the haze of marijuana Dave had been hauling into his windpipe the night before. 

The kitchen was almost ghostly empty now, except for a large brown package that somehow seemed to sparkle on the stale blue kitchen table

"Hey you big sack of shit" a booming, deep voice uttered from the moulding doorway on the other side of our tiny 6 metre by 6 metre eating space. It was Dave, freshly dressed and smart in his maroon corduroy suit. Dave behaved like a creepy comic Lord of the Manor, and treated his rundown 2-bedroom flat accordingly. He was speaking and standing with a posh delicacy, and these mannerisms seemed to have become a permanent part of his personality. Except when he donned the fashionably green uniform of his job at Subway (being a "Sandwich Connoisseur"). In those distinctive instances, of course, he respectfully returned to his rooted ghetto accent. 

In his arms, plastered the fat, grey cat, who endured yet another gentle stroke every second. Dave had never told me its name. Did it even have a name? I guess it identified itself enough through the vicious scratches and hisses it gave when in its vicinity of less than 5 metres. 

"Good morning, Dave" I replied, keeping one cautious eye on Ninja Cat, who could spring out of his arms and attack at any single millisecond. In moments of its obvious hatred towards me, it could shred its extra pounds in an instant, somehow. 

"It appears your Benefit Money evolved into a Mini Sack of Shit", he said, eyeing the box with two pairs of eyes.

"This..." I paused, building the anticipation, and thumping the palm of my hand upon the new arrival to our rotting abode. 

"Get your flabby obese hand off the top so I can have a browse at the label, dear chap" he sighed, interrupting my announcement with swift complacency.

But I had already backed well way by the end of his sentence, or I would have spent the remaining $50 I owned on a humongous band-aid.

"Microphone? Capture card? Webcam? James, what the actual earthen fuck? Are you aiming to depart your Long Term Unemployment with a tasty career in gay pornography?!" His cat looked at me incredulously, as if expressing emotion on behalf of Dave. It was as if they had some kind of bizarre telepathic bond. 

"No, mate..." I stopped, rubbing my eyes to extract and sweep away the final cobwebs of fatigue. "I'm going to be a YouTuber" I said, midway through a long yawn, not bothering to cover my mouth.

"A YouTuber? So you are going to be a gay pornstar; prancing around on the camera to entertain bearded men with their genitals flopping out? Believe me, most men don't want to see the kind of boobs you are endowed with". 

"Gosh, Dave. You don't even know what YouTube is! You've never owned a computer in your entire life!" I said, embarrassed now, needing to maintain my prideful status as not reducing myself to shaking my flabby booty on a webcam. It's true: I am homosexual, and do like men, not that any other members of the same gender had liked me back... but, pornstar? Really?  

"There's little point in explaining YouTube" I continued. "But, if you must know, try and imagine videos of all kinds that are non-pornographic, featuring normal people either creating video artwork, talking about their lives or recording themselves playing video games". Well, perhaps I exaggerated with the word 'normal'. YouTube has a lot more to offer than my overview, but feeding Dave too much information would just ignite hours of discussion to which I seriously couldn't be bothered to enter. 

"Hmm". He said, sinking gracefully into one of the three grey metal chairs surrounding the table. As he did so, the cat slinked out from his grasp and began to saunter across the floor.

This was my signal to leave. I don't care what anyone thinks. I was that cat's bitch, and if it got near, I would dart my wobbly thighs out of the way. Super fast. 

As I began to haul the box away, Dave asked "and this brings in the juicy bacon, how?"

"They put ads on each video" I gasped, as I saw how close the cat was to touching me. It was watching me, yellow eyes inquisitive and sinister. 

Waddling quickly towards the door, I looked back one last time to see Dave gazing at me, a hint of concern in his usually indiscernibly emotionless eyes. "And don't worry about bacon" I managed to smile. "I'm rich in that already". I winked, before leaping out of sight of that cat's tyranny, once and for all.