Some people get drunk and start fights. Others drink and cheat on their boyfriends or girlfriends. When I drink, animals wage war against me in the middle of the night.
It started when I was a teenager. I’d walk home late at night, scared the police would stop me for curfew. Once I was within a three-block radius of my house, my worries shifted from the police to the mighty owl.

An enormous white owl would swoop down and cast his shadow over me, giving me a tremendous fright. The first time it happened I was so scared I jumped into what I thought was a bush, but turned out to be a thicket of spiny cactus.

I lived the next three years in a state of constant fear. What did that owl want from me? Was he constantly mistaking me for a delicious field mouse?

Eventually I moved out of the owl’s range. But the owl was replaced by an animal 10 times more adorable and 100 times more dangerous.

I was stumbling home from a local bar one night and noticed a fluffy orange kitten, not much larger than my fist, was following me. I took the stray home and named him Meow Zedong after he purged an entire generation of mice and lizards.

Meow was a good cat during the daytime, but at night he turned into a monster. He would wait patiently in the dark for me to come home from drinking, then attack my ankles and feet with extreme prejudice.

It was cute at first, until Meow gave me cat scratch fever. My lymph nodes swelled to the size of golf balls.
After I recovered, there was a heightened tension in my apartment. I had the feeling Meow was plotting my death. I would wake up to him sitting on my chest, staring at me vacantly.

I decided Meow was too dangerous for any human to own, so I gave him to my older sister Gina. Happy birthday, sis.

During Winter Break I moved into a pretty nice apartment complex. I met my roommate through Craigslist. He’s pretty cool, but he never mentioned the complex was infested with skunks.

The first time I came home at night time I spent an hour in my parked car while several skunks patrolled the front entrance. The next night, a gang of particularly rowdy skunks chased me from the parking lot all the way to my front door.

I came up with a genius plan to deal with my pest problem. I started to carry a bag of cat treats to use as a decoy while I snuck through my complex. Apparently cat treats to skunks is what Facebook is to college freshmen, because the skunks began waiting for me every night.

I didn’t particularly mind that I befriended a gang of skunks; the members were all polite about the entire situation. I even named one of them Abe Stinkoln.

After a particularly long night, I skateboarded home to find Abe waiting for me at my doorstep. This time there weren’t any treats to bribe him with.

Abe was visibly upset and refused to let me pass. In a drunken rage I decided Abe would die before he would find a chance to attack me.

I took a vicious swing at Abe with my skateboard. He backflipped out of the way and fired off a skunk shot that hit me square in the chest.

I collapsed in front of my door, curling up in the fetal position to protect my face, or maybe I just didn’t want to give Abe the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I begged him for mercy but none was given. As he turned to leave, he shot me once more and scampered off into the darkness.

-Tony Artale is a journalism and media studies senior.

-This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.