There are those who say that dustcats are foolish, thoughtless creatures. Annoying sometimes, but not malicious. This sort of thing is generally said by the kinds of people who believe in their hearts that humans are better than other entities. Only humans are capable of the kind of complex thought that makes deliberate malice possible. Only humans can be evil, because only humans understand the concept of evil and can choose.

Do the dustcats know? Do they know when they go through your kitchen and knock every jar from the shelf that they are doing you a great disservice? Of course knocking things over is always fun, but they are more careful with the possessions of people who have been kind to them. Violently evict a dustcat from your kitchen and there is every chance that they will come back for revenge.

Do they know about how rare it is to find salvageable spices in a shipwreck? Do they guess the amount of work it takes to find and process bits of local plant that are tasty and probably won’t kill you? Have they thought about it? For the people who imagine that dustcats are foolish things, living only by instinct, it may be hard to imagine the forms dustcat anger could take.

All that fine ground kitchen spice. It’s a lot like dust really, and is easy to suck up. 

Only people who have seriously upset a dustcat get to experience the ‘blow’ options that the cats have. What is taken in through the tongue can also be released through the tongue. It is a terrible misuse of precious spices to snort them up and spit them out in this way. It’s also a very effective form of assault.

Almost as if they understood that they had been called thoughtless and foolish. Almost as if they were making a deliberate point.

Cat hat, dustcat hat, cat on a hat that’s where she sat

And the dustcat of course was round and fat

In the hat, with ears like a bat having eaten the dust

That she licked from the mat, 

With a tongue like a tube, like a trick like a twist

It’s a dustcat hat it’s a joke it’s a trap 

And its heavier now than a regular cap

But a regular cap won’t

Give your face a lap with a long tube tongue

That can suck and rasp

And you gasp and you writhe as it licks your face

The hat’s cleaning you, such a big disgrace

For what is dust but bits of skin

That are dead, that are dry, that are flakey thin

What a dustcat wants is a dusty snack

And your skin is fresh but it won’t hold back

Not this hat, not this dustcat hat on your head

In your face, clawing down your spine

Eating skin, dead skin maybe yours maybe mine

It may not be cute, it might be an attack

But you won’t like a cat who is feeling a lack

Any lack at all it’ll be in your face,

With its teeth and its paws and its feline grace

What were you thinking, did you dust this place?

Now that cat in your hat has to eat your skin

Though it looks quite fat this cat feels so thin

And you won’t put it off with the scent of gin

And you won’t get away though you try and you pray

It’s a cat hat, dustcat on your head

And it may eat your face if it thinks you’re dead.

(With thanks to Marieanne for the prompt!)