The dog calmed down immediately. I retrieved the cat. “Come! Here!”
“Yowwwlwlll I’m hungry.”
It was no use trying to coax the cat. I picked up stroke kitty, carried it over, and set it on the ground.
“I’m hungry. I want other cats to bully. Feed me. You’re the man keeping me down.”
“Right there. Behind you. It’s a damn squirrel. Yummy.”
“Yowwwllllll…. the trees are tilting.”
I picked up the cat, spun it around, and dropped it, nose first, on the squirrel.
The cat exploded. There was fur and claws and unholy sounds. Brain fried or not, the cat still has the instinct. Then it stood up, squirrel in it’s mouth, and raised it’s tail higher than I’d seen it all winter. It practically radiated joy at it’s excellence.
Yes, I care about the self esteem of my asshole brain damaged cat. Add that to sneaking up on a bird feeder like a sniper who gets one shot to survive the day. Neither of these things make sense. Humans are unusual creatures.
Squirrels breed like rabbits. Or maybe rabbits breed like squirrels. When Stalin kitty was healthy there weren’t many around. Now they keep turning up. I’ve popped a few more. The trusty little pellet gun still has the trigger pull of a tree stump but it works.
It seems that my cat, asshole that it is, has trained me to do it’s job. Human that I am, I fell for it. It’s getting used to squirrel treats every few days. I’m cat’s professional hunter? What a dumbass! The dog has calmed down, the cat has fabulous self esteem, my bird feeder looks like a horror movie, and the chickadees still don’t care.
Epilogue: The blood on the feeder has faded. Squirrels still abound but I’m slowly thinning them out. I still enjoy my cool chickadees and (less so) the other birds.
Yesterday a woodpecker showed up. No worries. There’s suet for them. Then the thing ignored the suet, perched on my feeder, and started scooping seed like it was getting paid by the pound. Just dumping shitloads of it on the ground! I grabbed the pellet gun but I had to admit that he looked cool.
I have no idea if they’re protected. I’d probably get attacked by “birders” if I shot one. So I chilled out and watched him waste seed by the pound.
Then the bastard paused, looked me right in the eye (I swear it did!), turned back to the feeder, and just pulverized the plastic lens on my feeder. As if to say “check this out Bubba, KABLAM”.
I went tearing out there and found my feeder with a baseball sized hole in the side. Jerk.
The chickadees? They still don’t give a shit.