Our neighborhood has a lot of cats. They seem like they have a home, despite wandering around collarless. Last summer, these semi-stray felines decided to use my flowerbeds and vegetable garden as their personal litter box. As you can imagine, finding a stinky pile of cat poop next to your meticulously cultivated tomato plant is infuriating. So we went to war. They had their cunning, sinister ways. I had my superior human intelligence. And my secret weapon, Lucy, who was more than willing to chase these interlopers back to their own yards. Our campaign didn’t take long before we had successful battled back and regained our territory. Our reign continues to this day.
However, yesterday, Chris noticed a poacher stalking the newly filled and hung bird feeder in the front yard. A stocky black and white cat hunted down and killed one of the birds. I actually found this report a little amusing. Birds and cats have been enemies for many years, and it’s just survival of the fittest, right? However, when I saw that same cat sitting in the street observing the birds again a mere two hours later, I was not pleased. After all, I hung the feeder for my entertainment, not for their dinner.
With my special agent out from a mental breakdown, I knew it was up to me to take on the enemy. With a loud BANG of the screen door, I burst out of the house doing my best hissing impression, clapping and running towards the cat. After it saw that I wasn’t backing down, she turn and ran towards the house across the street that belongs to a nonagenarian (and a prime old cat lady candidate).
I was feeling quite proud of myself as I turned towards the house. That was, until I looked towards my neighbor’s yard and saw ten or so men standing in a circle staring at me.
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