Pussy Cats
by Joe DiBuduo
Stealthy paws silently fall as felines strut onto my lawn of sand, a Siamese’s drawn out meow heralds, throughout the cat hood, telling all who hear, that my yard is the place to go, To show their glee, that they can pee for free on my turf, cat trinkets are left for me, covered in tiny mountains of sand like miniature burial mounds.
“You’re not welcome here,” I shout and chase them away. But they soon return to use their outhouse made of sand, where they don’t have to pay a damn thing, to do what nature demands. A dog is what I need. I go to the pound and put a kitten in my hand, to see which dog
hates cats more than me. Pitiful pups crammed into stalls, unfit for a dog, or even a cat, they’re all waiting to be gassed. Aroused by my human scent their adoption hopes rise. They beg to be saved, with made up yelps, and all forget about the feline in my hand. Except, Molly, a sixty pound white Lab, she snaps, snarls, and tries with all her might to get her lunch at first sight of the cat I hold.
She’s the one I want, I tell the keeper of these surplus pets. I’m happy to think that my home turf will be cat free, once Molly comes home with me. I stop at the store to get what she needs, a bone, a blanket, a bed, a bag of food. I brush and bathe her in my tub, getting her ready to show those cats, they no longer rule. Rough, ready and smelling sweet from doggy shampoo, we sit and wait until a Persian saunters into my yard, and begins building a burial mound in the sand. My heart fills with glee as I point at the Persian and declare, “Get him Molly.”
She can’t wait to get out the gate, barking, and snarling, her feet slip on the floor as she tries to push through the door. I fumble the latch in my rush to free this horrible hound onto my monument strewn lawn. To show those cats, a beast now lives here. Finally the door bursts open, a ball of white fur speeds in the direction of the cat lazily scratching through the sand. A hairy back balls up to the sky, claws extend, a screaming yawl that scares even me, stops Molly in her tracks. She turns around and heads back to the entry in fearful flight, with an apparition from every dog’s nightmare in hot pursuit. Yelping in fear, she burst through the door that I barely close in time, to stop the demon cat from coming through. Shivering from fear Molly sits there, ashamed that as a dog, she is nothing but a pussy cat.
