Installment 13

I know every outside-cat in this town.

Not only do I know all the outside-cats, I know a lot of the easy-money, Life-of-Reilly, inside-cats too. Sometimes I would talk to ‘em through their windows. I never told ‘em this, but in my opinion they were all fat and soft, more like giant mutant hairy potatoes than cats. Most of ‘em can’t walk fifteen feet without collapsing for a six hour nap.

And they’re so naïve. A lot of them used to tell me they envied me. “You’re so free! What I wouldn’t give to be an outside cat!” I never told ‘em about the drawbacks. I figure, hey, let ‘em have their dreams, right?

I know most of the humans too, how boring can ya get? Sometimes I wonder how they can stand it. They clump out to their cars, drive off, come home, and clump back to their house. They never run fast, climb or jump, they just clump. I’ve watched them through their windows and I swear I’m not making this up, but I’ve never seen one clean itself! Listen, life’s short, and I didn’t have time for anything boring or smelly. So when they were smart, and they left me alone, I left them alone too.

also know all the streets and alleys in this town. In fact, I know every square inch of this burg like the back of my paw. I also know everything that goes on here too. We got a grapevine like you would not believe.

Some of the outside-cats are OK. Like Baby Gino for instance (everybody with half a brain calls him just plain Gino) I used to check in with Gino a couple a times a week, to get the latest goings-on. He always knew everything, like who had kittens, who got Coyote’d, and if there were any new humans in town that were good for a bite to eat.

Baby Gino is one of about three male cats I know who have good sense. He don’t wanna fight every time he sees another male (which I’m very happy about, because I’ve seen him fight, and I want no part of that!) One time he told me that there’s just one good reason to fight another cat, and that’s if you’re fighting over a female. Even then, he says, you should try to talk your way out of an actual fight. Ya know, compromise, negotiate. Gino calls it “Catplomacy”.

It works like this: In as much detail as possible, tell the guy what you’re gonna do to him and stress how much it’s gonna hurt. Describe how grotesque he’s gonna look when you are finished with him. Tell him what you have done to other hombres who were a lot tougher than he is (it is OK to exaggerate here). Then promise you will not tell anybody if he should decide to play it smart and slink off. Ya know, tell him you will give him a break this time. Usually they buy it, but not always. So unfortunately, you always gotta be ready to back-up everything you say.

That’s the only thing I didn’t like about my life, all the fighting. Every year, when spring rolls around, most a’ these hairballs think they’re supposed to fight every time they run into another male, even if there aint a female within a mile! That don’t make any sense to me.

Fighting another cat ain’t a stroll in the park, believe me. I’d rather face a coyote any day. I could always outmaneuver one Coyote. But what’s scary is, there’s almost always more than one. They like to hunt in twos and threes, and they are very, very good hunters. If you ever sense there is more than one coyote around, scram or you’re a hot meal, period. But at least Coyotes aren’t interested in hurting you. They’re professionals. It’s not personal. They just want to eat you, and everybody’s gotta eat, right?

But, I digress...

Fighting another cat is strictly about pain. We never kill each other. The goal is to cause so much pain that the other guy just can’t take it any more. If you can do that, he will realize that discretion is the better part of valor, and he’ll put four to the floor.

I hated that. I especially hated fighting for no reason. It’s stupid, it’s painful, and there’s no percentage in it.

Baby Gino said it was because I’m smarter than most of these clowns. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. All I know is I’d prefer to get along with everybody. Life’s hard enough already, and there are a lotta other things I’d rather be doing, like hunting birds and mice and lizards, and exploring new places. And if I had to choose between hunting and exploring? That’s easy; I’d take exploring, hands down.

I’m an explorer and an adventurer, always ready to risk it all for a new discovery. My Mom said I inherited that part of me from my Great, Great, Great Grandma and Grandpa. Their names were Cookie and Sidewinder. They were world-famous adventurers. Heroes, even.

My mom always used to tell us about how Sidewinder and Cookie came here to the desert a long time ago, from thousands of miles away, to fight a war against millions of rats ( I wish I coulda been here!). She told us how fearless and bold our Grandma and Grandpa had been. She said Grandpa Sidewinder had led more than a thousand cats into battle on the north side of town, with Grandma Cookie right there beside him. “Legendary Adventurers”, Mom had called them.

After the rat-war, the humans gave each one of the rat-fighters one of these special collars. The one that I wear belonged to Grandpa Sidewinder. My sister, Gypsy, wears Grandma Cookie’s war collar. My mom said when the time was right; we’d know who to pass them along to.

When I was about a year old, Grandpa’s collar fit me perfect. But my mom didn’t know I was gonna keep growing, even after all my brothers and sisters stopped. After my family went their separate ways I kept getting bigger and bigger, and my Grandpa’s collar kept getting tighter and tighter. At first it was just annoying and I could usually ignore it. But after a while it really started to bother me a lot. It was almost all I could think about. I was so miserable. I tried to take it off, but no go. I scratched at it till I was bleeding and raw. I had a headache all the time from the pressure on my neck. I tried not to run too much because I couldn’t really breathe right and running made my head hurt even worse.

About a month ago I was walking down a sidewalk (minding my own business, of course) when this mean little upstart runs up to me outta nowhere and he wants to fight! Just like that! But with this collar choking me half to death, the last thing I wanted was a fight. I started trying some Catplomacy on him. I almost had this dopey cat convinced too. Anyway, I guess we were talking too loud, because some nutty dame comes outta her house and sprays the both of us with cold water from a hose! All of a sudden this genius cat decides that it’s my fault we got sprayed (you tell me, how was it my fault?) and he jumps me! I tried to fight back, and I did OK for a minute, until I lost my breath. I knew that it was time to breeze along. I turned to haul my buns outta there, but he got ahold of them from behind, and to make a long story short, I took a thorough mauling.

When I finally got loose, I ran for a block before I had to stop and catch my breath. My head was pounding, I was all shredded from the fight, my collar was choking me, and I was soaking wet. So I found some soft grass and decided to rest, dry off, and lick my wounds. I’ve had my share of hard knocks, but that was the worst I ever felt in my life.

Just as I was calming down, getting dry, and starting to feel a little better, I heard a man yelling in my direction. I looked to see what all the hubbub was about. I saw a man standing on his porch and I realize that it’s me he’s yellin at. Once again, I figure it’s time to be elsewhere. I get up to go, and the man throws a rock and BINGO, hits me right in the ribs! I was in total shock, first from the pain, then from the surprise that a human could throw a rock that good. Now I really want to bug out. But with all my aches and pains I was movin’ too slow for him, so he starts to run toward me! He was stomping at the ground, waivin’ his front legs, and tryin’ to make scary noises.

Enough was enough. I just could not bring myself to run away again. It never happened before, but I nutted up. Turning toward him, I began to close the distance.

Now apparently, when Mr. Rockthrower sees me comin’ after him, he re-evaluates his priorities, his recent unfriendly behavior, and pretty much his entire life up to that moment in time. He screams, turns around and tries to flea! I was outta control. I caught him, climbed up his back all the way to his conveniently hairless head and dug in. I leaned my head down, and tried to relieve him of his right ear. He swatted at me, but I had way too good of a chomp on him. Looking back on it, I aint proud of what I did. But that’s a catfight for ya’.

After a couple a minutes, two other humans come in, big ones. They tried to pull me off Rocky-Boy, but I ain’t finished with him yet! I warned the two new men to leave me alone, but they kept grabbin’ and pullin’ at me. It’s three against one now, but I was still so mad I didn’t care. One of the new guys got too close to my teeth and got a real bad bite in his front leg. They finally got a grip on me and stuffed me into a little box. They put me into a car, took me to a building over by the railroad tracks, and left me behind the building. Later that evening, the one I bit on his front leg came back.

When I saw it was him, I figured “Uh oh, this is it. I’m goin’ to the big litter-box in the sky.” Instead, he picks up my box, opens the little door and DUMPS me into a big cage with four dogs! Then the man points at me with his good hand, says something to the dogs, gets in his car, and drives off. What a relief. I started to think that maybe I’ll survive this after all.

(Be sure to read the final installment in the next issue of The Cat's Meow)