man vs. cat (edited)

"It's me or the cat!"
He had a ruddy complexion to start
so it was a beet-red face
screaming bloody murder
at the end of my nose.
His bulging catfish eyes bore into me
and I forgot everything;
there was nothing to love
in that angry, stupid man.

"It's me or the cat, I said!"
I stared hard, looking for a shred
a drop of who I thought he was,
while he searched my eyes for defeat.
His head was a red helium balloon
expanding every silent second
waiting for either concession
or rebellion.
Waiting to fucking blow.

"Goddamn it, answer me."
Now it was a plea
he was deflating
there was no more hot air
to force his words out
so they spat between his teeth.
Then the cat looked at me, cowering.

The cat.
The cat never said his
erectile dysfunction
kept him from showing affection
no calls from collection agencies
no shit-stained Fruit of the Looms
never
sat on the remote control
then lied when telling me
it was lost
because it was fourth quarter
and the score was tied.

So the man looked at me,
this deflated, sad piece of latex balloon,
his face in normal hue
as he conceded,
"I'll pack my things and I'll be gone tomorrow."

it was the best decision I never made.