Pussy Magnet

For a guy allergic to cats, there never seems to be a shortage of them in my life. Despite the fact that exposure to cat dander triggers potentially life threatening asthma attacks in yours truly, I can't get away from the walking fur balls. A litany of bewhiskered feline drifters comes calling at our house fairly regularly. A few years ago, one that we named Jager had a litter of kittens, all of which we later had spayed and neutered. Two of this family remain, a female named Boots and her brother Gray-Ray. (Jager, and my favorite of the litter Cletus, disappeared into the woods surrounding our house and never returned.) This sibling pair is tolerable, if not actually quite loveable for outdoor, semi-wild cats. Periodically, a loner will swing by and try to "take over the pride" through bullying and intimidation. One such cat, a male we called Blackbeard due to the black "soul patch" on his chin--and the fact that he was a marauding pirate of a cat bent on stealing the "booty" in the food bowl on our front porch--took a ride in the country with me not once, but twice before he finally took the hint that he was not welcome here.

Another drifter has made himself a permanent fixture recently. A handsome white cat with a black toupee and matching tail, Steve (as named by Alex) is here to stay. Our dogs have tried to run him off, as have I, but to no avail. Alas, I have given up. He is fairly nice and although Boots hates him, Gray-Ray doesn't seem to mind him much. Steve is a remarkable cat. The other day, I saw him take a dump in the yard that was so big it could have been mistaken for one of our St. Bernard's landmines. He didn't bury it like most cats, either. No sandbox, mulch pile, or any effort to conceal it whatsoever. No sir, he was proud of that pile. It almost looked like it could have been human. I imagined what my neighbors might have thought had they heard me yelling, "For god sakes, Steve! Don't shit in the yard. I just mowed!"

I think all pets should have human names. Yesterday I saw that cat stalking a mourning dove in the driveway. I threw open the kitchen window and shouted, "Steve! Don't you eat that bird!" Think of the fun you can have shouting at a crowded dog park, "Keith! Quit licking yourself!" Or, "Stop sticking your ass in Keith's face, Joyce!" When people ask me for tips on naming their pets or children, I always advise them to pick a name that they won't be embarrassed to yell in anger in a public place. Of course, our St. Bernard's name is Princess, which can be a little awkward when she's doing something like, say, chasing a helpless puppy at a local park. "Princess, no! Don't eat that Yorkie! Bad Princess!"

I hope that Steve will the last wayward cat to stumble across our homestead. But I doubt that will be the case. Alex is already planning to name the next one Bob. Let's see: "Bob! You pissed on my patio chair didn't you?!" Yeah, the neighbors will have a field day with that.