I whirled around indignantly and stomped across the street and up my driveway, past my own reeking flowerbeds to the porch. I was so angry, I stumbled over a bowl of Cat Chow and nearly fell right into the kitty condo. Fortunately, it was well padded with a fluffy pink bathrobe and a mound of receiving blankets that I once used to swaddle my firstborn; otherwise, I might have been seriously injured.
Once I recovered my balance, I swung open the front door, hopping deftly over the threshold on my left foot while, with a skillful thrust of my right foot, I simultaneously intercepted the mad dash of Wormwood's brother, Bubba. In spite of having come perilously close to being euthanized in the local animal shelter, Bubba still responds to the call of the wild, and it's all I can do to keep him in protective custody.
"The nerve!" I said aloud, mechanically groping behind me for the door handle as my Persian, Semele, made her own obligatory leap toward the freedom of the great outdoors. Absently, I pulled shut the door, barely registering the soft "THMPH" of her thwarted attempt to pounce upon the unsuspecting Wormwood, now squirming in blissful oblivion in my favorite planter, all four paws waving provocatively above the brightly colored moss roses.
Having successfully navigated the entryway, I absently grabbed a pair of folded socks from the laundry basket on the couch and hurled them toward my other cat, Peepers, who was resolutely carving long gashes with her claws into the side of my husband's favorite recliner. Without so much as a pause to congratulate myself on a bull's-eye, I paced the floor muttering, "Can you even believe that? Who does she think she is?"
All at once, I felt as if there was something I had overlooked. I stopped abruptly, staring in vacant distraction at the hairball Bubba had just hacked onto the carpet. Could it be? Was it even possible? Somewhere beneath the roiling anger in my mind was a still, small Voice, calmly whispering the unthinkable: "You know, she could have a point. Every neighborhood has its Crazy Cat Lady."
"No. No way," I argued out loud.
Again, the soft whisper of sanity stubbornly replied, "Yes, way."
"But what am I supposed to do? How can I let these poor, abandoned animals go hungry? I can't help the fact that they're naturally attracted me. They obviously sense my compassionate nature . . ."
Having taken on the visage of my husband, my still, small Voice rolled its eyes. "Cut the crap, woman. You put out enough cat food in one day to feed the entire feral cat population of Lubbock County, not to mention a formidable number of birds and the occasional possum."
"And there was that porcupine last summer, too," I admitted reluctantly, tapping my chin with my finger.
With no small effort, I squeezed into my husband's recliner beside another rescued tomcat, IttyBittyBlackKitty, who had put on twenty-pounds in six months and was draped over the arm of the chair, swatting languidly at Peepers. Sitting quietly in my third of the chair, I reluctantly pondered the possibility that Nadine was right. I didn’t much like the idea of Nadine’s perspective being a power greater than myself, but I had to admit, she might have something there.
Reply With Quote
)
my score was 22-it seems I have to work on my purring. 
Bookmarks