Found: One Angry White Cat

Part 1 - yesterday

When I got home from work today there was a sign hanging on my door stating the maintenance people had been in to fix my water heater. Oh, yeah, the apartment office had notified us that every apartment on my floor was going to have their water heaters serviced today. Whoopie. I had to drag all my stuff back into my front closet. I thought I heard a faint growling noise. The cats? No, they were radiating pure innocence. Naturally, since the garbage was knocked over. Strange. They've never been into the garbage before... But I didn't see anything to tell me what that faint noise was. Probably the neighbors. I went to my meeting at 5:30 and got home around 9. I set to work packing for the event this weekend. At 9:30 I heard my cats dive into a hissing fight. They've never howled at each other like that before! I ran into the dining room and saw a black cat screaming bloody murder while trying to kill a white cat.

Double take. Magic is black. Merry is white. Magic was twisting and clawing at a white cat under the dining room table, Merry was sitting primly in the hall.

Hello? WHO is that white cat and how the dickens did it get into my apartment???!!!

Those blasted maintenance men must have let it in! We don't have a resident manager, so I called the apartment office. Of course there was no answer at 9:30 pm. If this was an emergency (cleverly listed on the phone message as being fire, flood or heat outage--no mention of angry cats) I could call a certain number. I called it. There is no way I'm leaving that cat in my apartment while I go off to Coronation. No answer. I left a message. Fine. I hand wrote a little sign stating I had a white cat in my apartment and for the owners to call me right away and taped it to the front door of the aprtment building.

The cat is wearing a collar. That is all I can see, since s/he/it won't let me near it. I went up and down my hall knocking on doors asking if anyone had lost a white cat? Nope. Fine. Now it's 10pm and I'm going to work at 6 am, and leaving town directly after work.

So what am I going to do with this spitting growling alien feline? If I could get close to it I would be tempted to kick it outside. But if I come near the dining room it starts that evil growling. Maybe if I pretend it's not there it will go away?

Part 2 - today


I went to bed last night at 2am. Prayed the cats would leave one another alone. The alarm clock went off at 4:45, and I hit snooze. Didn't need to, as the cats began another vicious yowling fight five minutes later. My, that's a sound garanteed to get you out of bed in a hurry. Shoulda taken David's advice and called 911 last night. But, no, I didn't want to bother them so late at night. Moron. Me, not David.

So I took Jane's advice and locked my cats in the bathroom. Opened the patio door wide. Opened my last can of tuna. The good stuff, albacore in water. My cats, safely locked in the bathroom, hear the distinctive snick of the lid coming off and set up a subdued yowl. Waved the tuna in Alien Feline's direction. Stoopid feline wasn't interested, remaining huddled under the table making like a refugee from a torture camp. It apparently can't decide whether it wants to be a Long Suffering Martyr or a Feline Warrior Prince Defending His Turf. Or, no, wait. That's MERRY who is a Warrior Defending Her Turf. And Magic is the Long Suffering Martyr. Stoopid Alien Feline can't even be original. Got the broom to prod it out the door. Stoopid cat attacked the broom. Broom lost the fight. I retreat with less dignity than I would like. My cats are screaming at the tops of their lungs in the bathroom at 6am. No one in the entire apartment building needs to use their snooze this morning.

Finally, one agonizing step at a time, the alien moves toward the wide open patio door. It obviously wants to leave but doesn't dare. It slinks like a footed snake toward the patio. I employ the wounded broom to encourage it to Get The Heck Out of Dodge. At last it is only a yard away from freedom (my freedom. At this point I could care less about his) and in one single glorious bound he is out the door. I leap to slam the doors shut. Crap!! Spit!! Curse it!! What was my finger doing there??!! I dance around the living room, holding my crushed finger and muttering curses of pain interspersed with praises that the Stoopid Alien Feline is gone.

I get to work only a half hour late, with a hastily made tuna salad sandwich. That makes THREE lunches I have in the fridge here: left over chinese from yesterday, the frozen dinner I had originally brought to eat yesterday and the tuna fish. I'm leaving town in a few hours. When am I going to eat all that?! The system we use here at work has crashed. I can't work, except to pound my bruised finger on the keyboard writing this note.

Are we having fun yet?

Did you notice it's Friday the 13th?