Caaaaatssssss

 I like cat. Just one. Her name is Miss Bitte and she's my darling.

I prefer dogs. Actually, I rather like birds. And horses. Goats. Chickens, pigs, frogs, lizards, hell, I even like snakes better than cats. Except Miss Bitte. 

We have cats. Two that are domesticated and live indoors with us. Miss Bitte is one of them. The other is... The other is a thorn in my side. A pooping beast with a mission to poop everywhere. He does NOT use a box, but we figured out he'll use the peepee pads. Unless he's pee'd on it, then we get to play Find the Pile of Poop when we get up in the morning. I do NOT like that cat.

We also have cats outside. Fancy and Shadow. They are feral, although when you see them with Tammie, a.k.a. Snow White, you'd question that statement. She has them visiting her, pestering her for food, allowing her to give them belly rubs... Feral cats are weird. 

Of course, one of them is female and recently went into heat. We went from two feral cats to LOTS of  cats, most of which were male. The ruckus on the back deck was annoying. Many times the yeowling would begin and I'd have to go out there and bark at all of them. 

No wonder Fancy and Shadow don't come up to me unless I'm wielding foodstuffs for them. They think I'm a dog.

So, the other night, we were sitting quietly in the living room dozing TV, when there was a fuss on the back deck that disturbed the terrier. His bark is shrill and startling, which does NOT put me in a good frame of mind when that is what yanks me from my slumber. 

I hustled quickly toward the back door, terrier at my heels. The noise outside was alarming, so of course said terrier felt the need to be an idiot. As I'm lunging for the door to make an impressive entrance to the furry fray, the damn dog tripped me and I fell into the door jamb, catching my arm between the solid wood and my falling body. Just to make it interesting, I took off some skin using the latch for the screen door, which I'd managed to open, but wrenched my wrist in the process. Typing this is unpleasant. I probably shouldn't, but anyway...

The swearing and crashing did a great job of breaking up the fight. I still stood on the back deck and barked like an angry dog. Because at that moment, it is the most apt description of my mood.

Fast forward to tonight, when yet another kerfuffle was brewing on the back deck. I headed outside, carefully this time, turned on the light and watched the cats scatter. It was awesome. I gave a couple good stomps and a hiss, and the two big males that are still looking for something to screw took off. But I could still hear them in the yard, so I stomped down the ramp. I stomped across the walkway and over to the driveway. There was wrassling happening on the well-house lid. I hissed. And it was answered with a low, hair-raising, cat growl. 

Oh. Oh no you di'in't.

I made myself BIG, hissing, growling, and stomping my feet. I was hissed and growled at again. 

Of course I was out there in the dark with no glasses and no flashlight and ooky noises coming from the OTHER, darker side of the well-house. I had a choice. Walk away and hope nothing comes after me, or go all out and give them a rousing FUCK OFF, ASSHOLES! Which I did, but in cat-speak. 

I waved my still achy arm, stomped as loudly as I could in the dirt driveway, and gave my best cat-fight yeowl. There was the distinct sound of cats scrambling and screaming down the small embankment and across the lane. I stomped back into the house, reassured the terrier that I'd handled it just fine, and settled back in for some reading.

It didn't last long. Tammie called from the bedroom that there was another cat fight. Like, what am I, Fearless Feline Fury Facilitator? It's fucking dark out there.

She's worried about her Fancy and Shadow cats. Fine. But this time, I went out armed with my glasses and that damn LED flashlight that doesn't turn off with one click. It's bright as fuck, but if you don't click it enough times, it will strobe at you and make you fall over.

Maybe it's just me that does that, I don't know. Anyway...

The cats had taken the fight to the old fart's place and they knew I wasn't about to set foot on his property. Hell, I considered telling them to hold their meeting under his bedroom window, except the old fart is deaf as a post so their efforts would be wasted. Instead they darted off into the underbrush next to his house and have probably beaten the shit out of each other, or they got distracted by something more interesting. Whatever, it's finally quiet out there and I can ice my arm in peace.

Kind of reminds me of that time my mother went after a bull raccoon...