It's Not That I Don't Like Cats...(Part 1)

...but right now, we are at war. I have only myself to blame.

A few months ago, a neighborhood cat started hanging out at my place. A stripey black and grey bobtail. Because I'm so imaginative, I named him Bob. He is a total attention whore, very friendly.

He began loitering on my porch every day; watching me grill chicken and steak; lounging on the cool concrete near my chair as I read books. Sometimes I'd notice him watching me, as if he was curious about the quality of the literature. So I read aloud to him, a few paragraphs from Joseph Heller's Catch-22. He didn't seem to appreciate the quick-witted Yosarian as much as I did, though, in his defense, I was already pretty far along in the book. When I went back and started from the beginning, he seemed more at ease with the story.

The next time I went to the grocery store, I walked passed the pet supplies aisle (or as John Updike would say, the cat food/dog food/pet toys/leashes/wormer/flea collar/bone-shaped treats aisle) and decided that it was time I bought food for Bob. He was looking a little thin. So I swung my clattering cart around and bought some Meow Mix ("Cats ask for it by name!") and left the store feeling good about myself.

I dug out an old stainless bowl I'd had around for awhile and topped it off for Bob. He ate and ate. I read to him as he munched quietly. I decided to go with "First Confession" by Frank O'Connor. I figured the light-hearted tale would bode well with Bob's digestive tract; didn't want to get him bound up by reading something like Anton Chekhov or Stephanie Vaughn (God forbid I read him "Dog Heaven").

I didn't realize the seriousness of my mistake.

Apparently, my bowel-soothing prose coupled with the crunchy bits of post-processed animal parts were too much for other cats in the area to avoid. Now there are approximately 8 cats adorning my porch. I think they're all from the same family, including Bob. The little bastard betrayed me, it appears.

At first I decided to go ahead and maintain my dinner dates with Bob, but I became so preoccupied with running the other cats off that it just wasn't the same. Bob was no help. He would just step aside and let anybody and everybody eat his food while he looked on patiently. I called him a coward, but I think he was doing it on purpose.

I figured out to feed him on a raised platform--in this case, an old blue cooler which has been sitting on my porch forever--where there was only room for one cat. This fixed the problem of other cats eating his food, but it morphed him into some kind of feline god. All these cats, encircling his blue throne, sitting on their haunches watching him. The power got to him. He occasionally stopped eating and looked down upon them, his subjects, the peasants of his new kingdom. He would eat until he was content and then hop down, leaving a small amount of food behind. A frenzy ensued as the rest of the cats scrambled and pushed and hissed to claim his scraps. Bob couldn't be less concerned; grooming his paws near the edge of the porch; licking the food residue from his chops. Why they don't jump up there and try to overthrow him, I simply do not know.

And then, overnight, they all decided to begin shitting on a pathway I use every day. Last night I watched them--and this is the honest truth--one after another, walk to the area, find the perfect spot and poop. No more than one at a time. After I saw the first couple I became enraged and began finding things to throw, just to give them a scare. I found small pieces of gravel, and by the time I was in a good firing position, the next cat to come through was Bob. The little backstabbing bastard! I threw a rock (only a pebble, don't worry) at him and pegged him broadside. He jumped several feet into the air and dashed for the trees. He returned to the porch a few minutes later, not realizing I was the one who had pelted him.

Now I'm on a quest to change everything.

ANNOUNCER: Will he throw more rocks? Will he end up reading Anton Chekhov to Bob after all? Will it be too late before he can stop the poop festival on his lawn? Tune in next time to find out!

I Need a Fresh Start

That's right. I nuked everything here.

We're starting over folks. I need a fresh start.

So stay tuned.