Cat Drama is Free

When I was little, I used to get into trouble because when a cat would appear on Captain Kangaroo, I'd run over and repeatedly kiss the TV. Then my father would come home, turn on the news and say, "Did you kiss the &%$# TV again?"

That was always an awkward time. Because no one knew what to say to a man who said, "Did you kiss the ampersand-percent-dollar-pound-sign TV again?"

At any rate, for those of you just tuning in, we have three lovely cats that we schlepped all the way from Los Angeles to live here. And by "here," I mean wayyyy out in the country. We are surrounded by trees, large plants, hills, tall grass...

...and for some reason many, many cats. I mean, everyone in this neighborhood must have 5 cats each. And they are all allowed to play outside. I know they belong to people because they have -- are you ready? -- FLEA COLLARS on. Now. 1972 called. It wants its pest control back. Seriously, when is the last time you put a FLEA collar on a pet? I have been using Advantage since Prince told me to act my age and not my shoe size.

So these retro-flea-repelling creatures love to play in OUR yard. There is even one who looks just like our cat Winston, who I call Kitty Doppelganger because I am original that way, who LOLLS on our front porch, ROLLING in the sun, inches from where poor Winston is stuck behind the screen door.

Because yes. Marvin Gardens, who for some reason gets to make all the rules even though I am older, has decided our cats are not to play outside here. So they have to stay inside, the geeky city cats, holding their violins and wearing pinafores, watching the country cats play IN OUR YARD all day.

Poor Winston. You have no idea how Kitty Doppelganger bothers him. He will sit for hours looking out the door, saying mowmowmowmowmowmowmow while I am trying to proofread, and his lookalike loll loll lolls. To make matters worse, Kitty Doppelganger DOES look just like Winston, but he is, well, BEEFIER than my sleek kitty.

And also? While he sports his Hartz 2-in-1 flea collar? I am afraid that my cat is wearing...a Burberry collar and a pave diamond tag, shaped like a bone, for irony.

So today I am in here proofreading about cognitive dissonance while trying to drown out the mowmowmowmowmow of frustrated Winston. I go out there, and I can TELL what that tough country cat is thinking: "Hah! You just have to sit in the house while I get to roll on your porch. Ya afraid of snakes? Ya afraid of the country? Ya afraid of grass? What you gonna do about it, you stripey-ass, ribey, plaid-collar-wearing, diamond-irony-tagged city cat?"

Folks. I could not take it. I know the rules. I know Marvin could come home and ask me if I kissed the TV or let his beloved cat out or whatever. But I could not look at that tobacco chewing, incorrect-English-using Doppelganger tormentor one more second.

I let Winston out the door. Winston, who survived the mean streets of LA, who lasted a month in the pound before I found him, tore out that door and after that cat, his pave bone blowing behind him.

He came back 10 minutes later, not a scratch on him. And I have not seen Kitty Doppelganger since.

There is a bit-up flea collar in the drive, though.