Someone once told me that when she began to hear phantom baby cries at night, she knew it was time to have another child. I always found this amazing, and wonderful. I've often thought that I would welcome this sort of family planning guidance. So the other night, when I awoke and clearly heard an infant cry, I froze. I thought, so this is it, and I lay there, perfectly still, listening intently. After a moment, the wailing baby outside my window started to sound angry and much louder. Then she started hissing and rustling around in the oleander. So I soon determined that instead of having a spiritual experience, I was just hearing that homeless cat outside my window again, only now she's in heat.
I figured it out fairly quickly. Tommy doesn't have a little sister on the way. Even so, the cats gotta go.
It all started with the little Stripy cat. She may not be much more than a kitten. Now she has 2 suitors: Big Black with the Big White Belly (who sorta scares me), and Brown & Angry. Sometimes one or two others. Juliet and all her Romeos have taken up residence in our side yard, which isn't the most picturesque or romantic spot. Does anyone have any ideas for getting rid of the cats that does not involve putting them in a bag and drowning them in the canal, or leaving poison hot dogs out there in her love nest (my recycling bin)? Tommy would certainly find some way to find and eat the deadly dogs, plus I really don't want blood on my hands, literally or figuratively.
I have about 30 pictures of frosting-smeared kids (maybe even yours) from Sam's party to post, but Jake took the camera to work again. Pues, no tengo los fotos. He takes it around and takes pictures of all the houses he has for rent, and the results are yuckier than you might think. He has close-ups of cracks in the walls, mold in the shower, and in one especially unsavory shot, a dead rat. (I'll be fair: I think he has good reasons for the photos, like sending them to the owners to show them what needs fixing.) So, those, coupled (hehe) with the pictures he took of the copulating cats (see above paragraph) in our front yard (unfortunately, he decided to go for the tight shot, and didn't get the two feline benchwarmers in the photo with the two main players, which honestly, was the best, and most disturbing, part), make it sort of scary to flip through the digital pictures, even if I could. But I can't, because he took the camera with him again.
You are dying to see the cat pictures, aren't you?
3 comments:
I think you can call the humane society and get boxes to trap them in. Perhaps replace the recycling bin/romance headquarters with a new, plush place to play their Marvin Gaye. And then, when you have a screaming, angry cat in the box, they come get them. That might not be true at all, I might just have seen that on an old ABC afternoon special or something, but I think it might be a place to start. And of course your fans all want to see the cat pictures. And maybe the dead rat too. Just kidding on the latter.
The first time I heard that racket at our old house, I woke Alan up and told him that someone had left a baby on our back porch. That is the craziest sound to wake up to in the middle of the night.
I don't know about the pictures. My brother and I still talk about how traumatized we were once - walking to afternoon primary we came upon two dogs getting busy. We ran all the way home and begged our mom to drive us to the church.
BTW, I am surprised the the Boleyn movie is PG13 - the book was kind of R rated - what do you think they left out? Barbara Lofgreen recommends 'Definitely, Maybe'. Have you seen it?
OH my gosh.. don't you know you are living with the terminator? Ask him about Minnie Doty, the dog, the bb gun and the police!! And you're worrying about a cat?Piece of pie!!
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