A State of War
Before I start this little adventure, you need to know some background information: I hate cats. I absolutely despise them. They are pissy, rude, egotistical and unappreciative.
My boxer, Grace, hates cats even more than me.
I've been in a state of quasi-war with the neighborhood cats for the last nine years. You see, for years we have had several bird feeders and a bird bath in our yard. We love watching the different species of birds come and go -- and it is a connection that I have with my Mom, who has been gone for over 20 years now. She was a bird watcher and taught me much about birds.
But the damned neighborhood cats were spoiling it all. They were always perched under our feeders waiting for a free chickadee or cardinal meal, which enraged me. For whatever reason, people are not held accountable for their cats and they are allowed to roam wherever they damn well please. Why is this so?
For years, I would ambush these furry bastards whenever I could, and I'd gotten quite good pegging them with rocks. But such is the stupidity and arrogance of cats, they never learned and always came back for more... and I delivered, believe me.
This spring we decided enough was enough. We moved our bird feeders and bird bath inside our fenced in back yard. I knew that wouldn't keep the cats out, but I figured they were fair game if they jumped my four foot chain link fence and entered my yard.
It took the entire summer, but tonight I spotted one of the neighborhood cats, a well-known, morbidly obese piece of orange crap I've nicknamed "Fat Ass," perched under one of our bird feeders. He just sat there as pretentious and defiant as could be, with a sort of smug "f*ck you" look on his fat face.
It was time to release the hounds, literally.
Before you think I am a heartless creep, I gave Fat Ass a warning shot, as it were. I opened the door and allowed him to make eye-contact with me. But he didn't run, just hunkered down, undoubtedly expecting a rock to come flying his way. Since this moron was too stupid to run, I gave the signal: "Get 'em, Grace!"
Grace was as excited as could be, but she's not exactly a predator. She can spot a Cheeto on the floor at 20 paces, but she couldn't see this massive ball of crap crouching under the bird feeder. Fat Ass, however, saw her.
In what must have been a feline "oh shit!" moment, Fat Ass waddled at impressive speed toward the fence, at which point Grace locked in on her target.
Grace is old and has lost a step, but when cat's on the menu, that dog can move. I'm talking Jesse Owens-type speed.
Fat Ass won the race this time... barely.
However, I know he is too stupid and conceited to learn his lesson. He'll be back.
And Grace will be waiting for him.
My boxer, Grace, hates cats even more than me.
I've been in a state of quasi-war with the neighborhood cats for the last nine years. You see, for years we have had several bird feeders and a bird bath in our yard. We love watching the different species of birds come and go -- and it is a connection that I have with my Mom, who has been gone for over 20 years now. She was a bird watcher and taught me much about birds.
But the damned neighborhood cats were spoiling it all. They were always perched under our feeders waiting for a free chickadee or cardinal meal, which enraged me. For whatever reason, people are not held accountable for their cats and they are allowed to roam wherever they damn well please. Why is this so?
For years, I would ambush these furry bastards whenever I could, and I'd gotten quite good pegging them with rocks. But such is the stupidity and arrogance of cats, they never learned and always came back for more... and I delivered, believe me.
This spring we decided enough was enough. We moved our bird feeders and bird bath inside our fenced in back yard. I knew that wouldn't keep the cats out, but I figured they were fair game if they jumped my four foot chain link fence and entered my yard.
It took the entire summer, but tonight I spotted one of the neighborhood cats, a well-known, morbidly obese piece of orange crap I've nicknamed "Fat Ass," perched under one of our bird feeders. He just sat there as pretentious and defiant as could be, with a sort of smug "f*ck you" look on his fat face.
It was time to release the hounds, literally.
Before you think I am a heartless creep, I gave Fat Ass a warning shot, as it were. I opened the door and allowed him to make eye-contact with me. But he didn't run, just hunkered down, undoubtedly expecting a rock to come flying his way. Since this moron was too stupid to run, I gave the signal: "Get 'em, Grace!"
Grace was as excited as could be, but she's not exactly a predator. She can spot a Cheeto on the floor at 20 paces, but she couldn't see this massive ball of crap crouching under the bird feeder. Fat Ass, however, saw her.
In what must have been a feline "oh shit!" moment, Fat Ass waddled at impressive speed toward the fence, at which point Grace locked in on her target.
Grace is old and has lost a step, but when cat's on the menu, that dog can move. I'm talking Jesse Owens-type speed.
Fat Ass won the race this time... barely.
However, I know he is too stupid and conceited to learn his lesson. He'll be back.
And Grace will be waiting for him.
 |
| "I've got my eye on you, Fat Ass." |
