I was sitting in my garage, contemplating having nine glasses of wine, when a little black cat came skulking up, clearly feral. Ah. So this is the little bitch that’s been tormenting the dogs. The cat looked at me, backed away, and jumped up on the top of my gate, obviously planning to go into the back yard.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I warned her.
She cut her eyes. You’re not the boss of me. Cats can speak telepathically. If you don’t believe me, just look one in the eye and strike up a conversation. They’re real smartasses.
“Yes, I know you’re a grown ass woman, I was just offering some friendly advice.”
Why don’t you just guzzle down some of that high class boxed wine you got there and mind your own business?
“I can see you make your own decisions, so go ahead little mama. Jump on back there.”
And so with that, she takes the leap. Despite her ignorance, I felt compelled to protect her. I tried to make it through the house and to the back door to let the dogs in before they made her acquaintance. No such luck. The kitty’s ego was much too inflated to peak around the corner to see if there were dogs afoot. The dogs made chase right as I was opening the door.
OH shit oh shit oh shit oh shit! Miss Kitty should have listened to Mrs. Garage Lady.
They were right on Miss Kitty’s tail when she took a roll, over what I don’t know. She went tumbling, a ten-foot trail of shit spewing out of her behind, and ran smack-dab into our rock pile.
Lucky for Miss Thang, we have one gimpy Yorkie and a big fat Labraheeler that my husband swears isn’t fat, it’s just that white isn’t slimming. That being said, the cat had time to regain composure and make it over the back fence to safety.
Before I could even get my “I told you so” out, I heard OH FUCK YOU, LADY from over the fence. Feral cats are so RUDE.