I’ve been feeding the kitty across the street for almost a week now. It was my pleasure to help her mistress who went home to visit her sister in Ohio. I just wish she had told me to make sure to bring a whip and a chair.
I’m no push-over when it comes to critters. Just yesterday I went to pet Gracie the pit bull who must have been having a bad day because she went for me. Rather than recoiling or redressing her owner, I just said, “It’s okay…we women are moody…it will no doubt pass.”
This cat hates me, though we have a history.
One of the reasons I stepped up when asked was because a good ten years ago, grouchy with a tail, lived upstairs with a nutty girl who got her from the pound as a kitten.
Was she cute…like a little tiger cat.
Now I’m thinking she was a tiger and no one knew.
When this girl moved out she was going to plunk her back at the pound, so I convinced Katie to take her.
You’d think Isabella, whose name used to be Mellow Yellow, and no, I did not make that up, would show a little gratitude…instead, she hates the sight of me.
First day, as I was scooping her litter box, not exactly a day at the beach, she howled at me. “What do you think you’re doing in my bathroom.”
“Cleaning it, what do you think I’m doing… about to use it?”
I do tend to talk to the animals I’m with. Carmela the basset and I have wonderful conversations as we look in all the store windows. It seems we’re both partial to Polo, Juicy Couture and Carolina Herrera.
But I’m digressing.
Then the little darling wouldn’t let me out of the kitchen. She crouched at the entrance like I was a big bird she was about to seize. Was I annoyed.
“Is this any way to treat someone who’s been kind to you, and continues to be? Did you just say fuck you?”
Text Text…to her mom sunning herself on that wraparound porch I heard so much about.
Um, just wondering what’s up with Isabella who has me barricaded between your sink and stove. Any tips you might have would be most appreciated.
I wait and wait…finally she writes….oh, that’s Isabella alright. She must be in one of her dark moods.
Just ignore her.
Right…as she’s clinging to my neck like a vampire I’ll think of other things, like how I’m going to make you pay for this.
Finally, I just had enough, so I took her scooper and challenged her to a duel. She backed off, the little pussy!!!
I was better prepared the next day. Someone suggested a spritzer bottle filled with water. I was thinking scotch would be better, but after all, she’s not my cat.
All I had was my Evian Mister in its refillable aerosol can so I figured, it can’t be considered animal abuse if it’s good for her complexion now can it…even though it is about .90 a squirt.
She’s clearly an only child (wanted in 12 states) I still attempted having compassion for.
You would think her owner might have mentioned Simba’s proclivities before I took on the task, but she didn’t. Made me think of the Lucy episode when she babysat for the twins who tried burning her at the stake.
Saturday was her mother’s birthday so I took a picture of her. Well, a good 40 if you must know before I had one that didn’t make her look like Charles Manson. She could have used some concealer and a little blush, but what are you gonna do?
I texted it to Katie with a note…Happy Birthday Mom…and when the fuck are you coming home?