Bruce is one of the strangest cats I’ve ever known. A big guy with a round face, bulging eyes and an Abe Lincoln beard, he looked like an overstuffed giant leprechaun with a severe case of Graves Disease.
Bruce claimed he was a hereditary Druid priest and had been forced to flee Minnesota because of religious persecution. He loved to get drunk and wax poetic about nubile women serving as naked alters in deep woods rituals of bacchanal debauchery.
He hated St. Patrick so much that March 17 was the only day of the year he stayed cold stone sober.
Entry for this week's Hundred Word Stories Challenge.