So, Monday morning I noticed that my garage smelled like animal excrement. As I do not have an animal, I was a bit upset. Better said, I was threatening to quit feeding the cat that moved in under my porch.
Not that I've seen that cat anywhere near my garage. S/he's far to skittish and afraid of us to attempt such nonsense as the garage.
I later found the pile. I think it was dog doo. It was certainly larger doo than the cat has been laying down in my lily bed, next to her door, under my porch. But now that I'm thinking about it, there has been this large cat prowling about. The doo could have potentially fit that cat. But don't cat's go in dirt?
So we start feeding this cat, right? The little black one that lives under the porch. That my neighbor tells me I will have to register if I continue to feed. And, as I missed pet amnisty day and am still feeding, am probably breaking some rediculous law that I don't know anything about except that I am breaking it. Gee, thanks for that Ben. Now I'm willfully breaking the law by honoring my mother-in-law by feeding the cat that lives under my porch.
Life is too short for this kind of guilt. There are starving children in Africa, you know? And we are all worked up about whether cats are registered. Maybe we deserve to have our economy crash.
Did I mention that I have PMS?
But my point is this: suddenly my house is cat haven. All these cats have been coming around. First the black kitty. A week ago this large grey striped cat prances into the backyard. The kids go bezerk, first terrified and then wanting to feed it. And they do until I put the lid on that behavior. It looked plenty well fed and I only have guilt for the cats that are MIL sanctioned.
But it keeps coming around.
I KNEW that little kitty couldn't be eating that much food.
And then yesterday, I saw this big white cat, HUGE, with big grey spots, nosing around my porch, trying to swipe the goods out of my hungry little kitty's babrie bowl.
And then TODAY, the striped cat was back, rubbing all over all of us, looking for a handout. Meanwhile, the starving black kitty can't get to the barbie bowl because it seems to be afraid to walk past me to get to it. And then I figure out it isn't ME, but the big grey cat. So I MOVE the barbie bowl to the kitty.
That still won't let me touch it.
I hate cats.
But s/he did sneak up on me later and wrap her/himself around my legs, once, before darting away.
I like to think of it as gratitude.
To which I must say, "'bout stinking time! Who buys your food, anyway?"
But all those other critters that are coming around are going to have to take a long walk away from my house.
I am no cat woman.
Maybe this is why all the neighbors have those yappy dogs. How DO the cats survive?
Oh, right. My yard.
I wonder if someone will loan me a dog for a week?