I Stand On Guard for Thee and Thee, and Thee Too!

I am a fine Black and White, and like a good wine, I get better as I age. Just don’t put me in a bottle in your wine cellar. Then I may not live up to your expectations.

As in Indoor / Outdoor / Indoor cat I have the blessings of a home, while still able to quench my call of the wild streak that runs from the tip of my twitching nose, down my back, to my tail and up my soft belly. I know it is invisible to mere mortals but it is real and goading me to the next level of interaction with the Four Footed and some Two Footed.

In order to quell my call of the wild streak as well as my testosterone  level, I spend a lot of time breathing deeply, exhaling, stretching, doing yoga poses, clearing the wheat from the chaff, so to speak because Momma is not a fan of that side of me. That is why I spend a lot of time outside on the front bench just surveying Andyville.  Oh, oh, don’t tell Jakita what I said.  She calls our homeland Jakitaville but she does not put in the long hours that I do, culling the herd, so to speak.

Now I am no Jakita.  I do not have a book of Policies and Procedures.  No, I just react, situation by situation, to keep our surroundings safe and habitable.  I can be ever so accommodating with the squirrels and the raccoons.  They have a separate cycle of life that I do not interfere with as long as they are no threat to my family and me.  It is other situations I feel I must control. I will give you a for instance.

Momma is on her hands and knees weeding the front garden.  Someone passing by stops to chat.  I get off my front perch and stroll over.  No, do not pat me, I am like the President’s Secret Service.  I am on duty.  I sit on a stepping stone to evaluate the threat.  If it seems to be a friendly, I stretch out in the sun.  Then again, if it appears to be a loony tune or an unsub, I pester Momma by winding around her and caterwauling, until she tells the person, uuuhhh, she has to see what I want.  Maybe I am hungry.  That works.  Some fresh chicken chunks for saving, possibly, your life.  Seems like a fair trade-off to me.

My next big challenge is the feral felines that steal Momma’s time and sometimes her heart.  Now Casey is Over and Out but I barely tolerated him.  Next came BB.  Oh, what a troubled cat he was.  I never knew such a vocal, disturbed, (I tell you) cat, howling and growling, like a hand grenade about to detonate. But I saw through him.  He was just frightened and trying to keep all taker’s back.  And…. if BB was the grenade, Clem was the pin. 

I know I was  a Feral, rescued at a tender age so I don’t understand how that pecking order works completely.  All I know is when BB started hissing and growling, Clem with  his tortitude went in to an attack mode that pulverized poor BB.  Momma interfering left her with gashes and bite marks.  Throwing cold water or shaking a bottle of marbles at them, intensified the fight, bringing it to a new level of unbridled suffering.  And BB, a much bigger cat, always lost to this little wild cat from. H_LL.  I would just shake my head.  Leave them alone and let them go home, Momma, anywhere out of my sight.

Momma, please, you can’t go investing your heart in the strays, should it be the Two Footed or Four Footed kind.  You know it surely did not lengthen Casey and BB’s life. From where I stand, I don’t see any improvement in the life of the poor unfortunate Two Footed either who walk around muttering to the voices in their head.  They actually looked scared when you look at them, like maybe they have done something wrong, just by walking by.  As the Most Wise Wonder Boy says, do not encourage the strays. Their ways are not our ways, okay. You heard that one before, you say?

Wonder Boy and I, we understand testosterone and feel things we don’t see. Now it is time to embrace it, Momma.  After all, we are depending on you to not upset the apple cart of life, okay, Momma?