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Monday, February 2, 2009

No Kibbles for a Cat Fight

So, here I am on my computer (aka, The Sloth) this morning and above the tv and the quiet whirrr of the computer I hear, rrraaooowww.


It's coming from outside. I go look out the window and see two cats on the shed porch. Two orange cats, and judging from the sizes of their heads, they are males, (Another subject, ahem.) appear to be vying for a spot on the sunny porch.

Because it's only 12 feet long.

Naturally, I scoop up my own cats and take them down to a prime viewing spot in the window to watch the gladiator-like face off. Strange. I think I was more excited than they were. A fact that is supposed when Winnie jumps off the table and stretches out on the floor.

Suddenly, the cats morph into one spinning ball of orange and are rolling around on the ground, just like in a cartoon! Wow. I'd better put a stop to this. When I open the back door, one cat is gone and the other looks as if he doesn't know what just happened. He has a huge tuft of fur on his ear but otherwise seems ok. Tufts of fur dot the snow around him. I try to approach him because I feel bad that I thought that Nature should take its course and hope the kitty isn't hurt. I consider, for a brief moment, that maybe I should put some kibble under the shed for him but then decide against it, as this will only encourage more whirling dervishes.

Exit stage left for kitty and I go back inside, where, Ironically, Dr. Phil is doing a show on rage.

What does this have to do with anything? I don't know. I only know that my husband and I finished our federal taxes on Saturday and for the rest of the night I was like those two cats, fighting, spitting, pulling fur with him, the IRS, the banking industry, the bailouts, bitch gold diggers, my former boss, Blago-logic, baked beans, telemarketers, gray hair, what else have you got?

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