I was minding my own business when I heard a sudden outburst of pitiful meows from my woodshed. I texted Mrs. Curmudgeon: “There’s another damn stray. It’s in my woodshed. The fucker had better not take a dump on the wood I worked so hard to stack!”
I like cats in theory but I’ve had enough of them in practice. We’ve already got a barn cat. It spent years pissing me off. As it aged it slowed down on the destruction of stuff (aside from scratching the hell out of our door jam) so we established a détente. I’m nice to it and give it food and water and I even built a nice warm place where it can sleep (outside!). I make sure it has a heat lamp in winter. In return the cat does nothing whatsoever and is still annoying when it can be. It still gets itself locked in my garage if I’m not careful whenever I open the door. On the other hand it hasn’t torn up my tractor seat or my motorcycle saddles… lately.
The cat has lived for what seems like forever. It’s original name was “Lucy” but I call it by every synonym for “evil” or “asshole”. Regardless, I respect all living things, especially in their old age. I treat it well and patiently look forward to the march of time providing me with a cat free life. I’d have a different opinion if the little jerk ever caught a mouse.
You’d think an outdoor cat would be hassle free but the cat bowl attracts all sorts of mayhem. Squirrels, chipmunks, songbirds, skunks, raccoons, you name it. I’d rather avoid the drama but I promised the old barn cat I’d take care of her. Also, I have a soft spot in my heart for chickadees. They’ve got blanket amnesty to steal all the cat food they want. The jays are a bit more aggressive but I can live with it. The rest annoy the hell out of me, including the inevitable arrival of another damn cat.
That stray showed up several years ago. I named it “Intruder Cat”. It’s not a full time resident. It disappears for months and then shows up from time to time. At first it would fight with my old barn cat and bully the thing. I didn’t like that. I’d chase the stray away. Over time the two stopped fighting. Now they mostly get along. Mrs. Curmudgeon “upgraded” his name to “Frenemy”. Frenemy never catches mice either.
I want a third cat like I want higher taxes. Mrs. Curmudgeon is always a few steps ahead of me. She texted “Get a picture.”
It came out of hiding soon enough. A kitten that looks a lot like Frenemy. I’m guessing Frenemy went off and got lucky somewhere. I presume Frenemy abandoned the kittens and wherever the mom-cat lives. He probably wandered off just like any Tomcat would. Much like the lyrics of an old time blues song.
One kitten must have followed him and wound up lost at our place. It climbed up an old ladder I’d leaned against my truck and started fixin’ to make a mess in my truck bed.
There were trash bags in there. The kitten was hungry and very interested. I intervened before it could spread trash everywhere. I sighed…
“It’s a kitten. Probably Frenemy’s genes. I’m making a dump run before it trashes my truck bed.” The kitten scampered away and I rolled out for the county dump.
Mrs. Curmudgeon wasn’t letting me off the hook. “In its defense you left a ladder for it.”
Back home, with the truck properly emptied, I caught another glimpse and snapped a photo. I sent it to Mrs. Curmudgeon. “This is the offender. If it messes up my stuff I’m voting it off the island.”
“He looks hungry. I’ll pick up kitten food on the way home.”
“Wait? What!?!”
So, that happened.