Lately for entertainment I’ve been watching the unfolding feline drama taking place out our window.
Evidently our backyard is the ‘it spot’ for all outdoor cats this winter season. From my hours of observation (because I am now the Jane Goodall of the cat world), I have determined that there are two distinct gangs of cats that vie for possession of our compost pile.
Everyday these cats meet to hiss and stalk each other in between bouts of extreme grooming. Occasionally there is some intense swatting, but mostly it is a bloodless, somewhat civilized feud.
It’s like watching the musical CATS mixed with some West Side Story. One day I fully expect to find the cats snapping their paws and singing “When you a Jet you’re a Jet all the way from your first cigarette to your last dyin’ day!” as they circle each other.
The kids and I have given these cats names like Small Fluffy, Lady Trash-heap, Scaredy-Cat, and Big Rhonda. Everyday when I do the dishes I invent some kind of cat dialogue in my head. (Usually with Puerto Rican accents, because even thought the Jets get the best songs, in my heart I’m a Shark.)
“Litterboxes?!? We don’t need no stinkin’ litterboxes Senora!”
“Lady Trash-heap, those gringo felines have stolen our catnip! Awake and seek vengeance!”
You think if my husband knows I’m sitting around watching feral kitties in the backyard for fun, he’ll take pity on me and order us cable?
Yeah, me neither.