Wrong Cat

Our main feline defensive perimeter (outdoor cat) was formerly a bad ass. It beat the shit out of everything cat sized and killed anything small enough to be eaten. It was a bully, a jerk, a monster. Yet I had to admire it’s brazen violence. It kept the yard free of just about any small wild animals and chased off any stray cat that even looked at us from afar.

On spirit alone, it should live forever… or wind up in Valhalla after an epic three on one battle with coyotes after it killed two of ’em and got a good couple hits on the third. Alas we are all mortal and time cannot be denied. Sometime this winter the little cretin stroked out. It didn’t die. No, it’s too ornery for that. It simply kept living at a 40 degree tilt. It also outlasted its peers (whom it beat senseless whenever it could). It’s our sole remaining outdoor cat.

I have a lonely, tilted, brain damaged cat in the yard. It freaks people out when they come to visit. So what? So do I.

Meanwhile it’s experiencing karma. The cat, who was an asshole all it’s life, is lonely and disrespected. Even the duck, which is apparently a chicken, doesn’t pay attention to it. Even worse, the little freak can no longer hunt worth shit.

It tries hard enough but a tilted horizon apparently wreaks havoc on the targeting of small birds. I root for it. Maybe someday I’ll be weird and tilted and brain damaged and desperately trying to catch a deer. I hope my cat roots for me from it’s perch in cat Valhalla.

Today I glanced out my window to see the monster trotting around with a freshly killed chipmunk. Well done.

An hour later I looked out and saw it pounce on a mouse and come up with a fat one… right where I’ve been meaning to mow and haven’t. Awesome.

My cat was having a good day. I smiled. Even evil creatures on the downside get a break once in a while. Then I realized that the victorious cat, which was now stalking another chipmunk…

…wasn’t my cat.

Shit! Without a violent feline musclehead hanging around to keep the homestead to himself we’re getting interlopers. I’m sure if my crooked cat ever focuses enough to see the intruder it’ll attack. Or attack a few feet to the left of it. It’ll be interesting to see what happens next.

About Adaptive Curmudgeon

I will neither confirm nor deny that I actually exist.
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7 Responses to Wrong Cat

  1. Ray says:

    What a modern female attitude toward a wild predator. “Toms” especially wild or “feral” toms live alone, hunt alone, and die alone. Defending their hunting grounds for as long as they can fight. Then often die of starvation or freeze to death when they grow too old or infirm to hunt. You have been able to observe the life of a Tiger in the wild. The raw face of freedom. The freedom your ancestors knew but you never have, and no longer understand. You have been blessed to see a proud free creature , living on its own terms, in a world that no longer allows room for the truth of nature or freedom. Next spring you will probably find that old ones bones by the water hole or in his warm nap spot. Be glad that God has allowed you to see that this is still the world he created.

  2. Mark Matis says:

    Your cat has trained you to feed it fresh-killed meat. Having you been doing so in proper amounts lately? If not, why should you be surprised that kitty now lets illegal aliens invade? How is that so much different from what Our Betters do every day, since we clearly do not give them proper deference and respect???

  3. Glenn555 says:

    Heh, you SIR, are one wonderfully sick SOB!

  4. Albert says:

    Hell, it sounds like you have a new muscle-cat. See if you can’t get this one to stick around.

  5. Tennessee Budd says:

    I’ve got a tom who’s extremely fierce. He was an inside cat, but the little bastard wanted to spray in my house. I figured if I neutered him, he’d no longer be effective, so he became an outside cat. Little fucker will take on anything, regardless of size. He isn’t even particularly big. Like humans, size isn’t really an indicator. Ever notice that lots of operators are medium-sized dudes, just with big brass balls?
    I call him my pit bull kitty. He’s even built like my old, loved & much-missed APBT–big head & shoulders, & tapers from there back.
    I agree with you. The cats’ll work it out. Good luck. If the old one gets his ass kicked too much, feed him some nice, smelly fish, wait until he sleeps, & shoot him in the head–with appreciation for what he once was.

  6. JebTexas says:

    Holy Shit bro, my sides are hurtin’ from teh funny on that one.

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