And you think we have tariff problems

I’m telling you, this thing has gotten completely out of control. It’s insane. We have lost our every-loving minds! I feel like I am being swallowed by a boa constrictor.

And the whole upside down, convoluted mess is my first wife’s fault! If she hadn’t’a stolen that cat from our neighbor….

For all you kids out there, this is a lesson in how crime absolutely, positively, unequivocally, categorically does not pay!

And I’m not sure Cooney is an innocent bystander in this story. She just happened to be the first. And I told her straight up when she plied her way into the house – the facts on who first enticed the cat to come inside are a little fuzzy – that I was not a cat person.

Cooney mostly stays out of the way. Except when she wants to sit in your lap. Or she wants to drink water out of the kitchen faucet. Or she wants you to rub her back. Or when she scratches on the legs of the sofa demanding you to get up and let her out. Or when she decides to sleep between us in our bed at night….

Whitey showed up a month later to finish off Cooney’s expensive Purina Complete Cat Food with chicken, liver, tuna, salmon, steak, lobster, and tiny bits of Hostess Cup Cakes…. This was, of course, before we moved Cooney’s food inside.

Are you getting the picture here? Cooney is feasting on the high-dollar meal under the dough board in the kitchen. Whitey is chowing down on the same meal on the back steps. And remember, neither cat belongs to us.

Whitey is as wild as a March hare. We can’t get near this cat. He scampers away at any overture in his direction. We have been feeding a cat for years that won’t let us near him. Cathy decided that naming a white cat Whitey shows little or no imagination. She unceremoniously renamed him Buddy.

I still, to this day, have trouble calling a cat Buddy that will not let you near him. I suggested names, to no avail, like Loner, Distant, Ungrateful, Aloof, Moocher, Freeloader….

Frank (because he had striking blue eyes) showed up on the deck on a Monday. Cathy refilled Buddy’s bowl and moved it to the deck. On Tuesday Frank was back limping pretty badly. He was hurting so much that he only finished off two helpings of the ever-increasing pricey Nutritionally Complete Cat Food.

Wednesday Frank crawled up on the deck and passed out from the pain before I could get the gold encrusted food out to him. We had known this cat two-and-a-half days when we wrapped him in a blanket (Whitey…. I mean Buddy, would have died out there before he would let us pick him up) and rushed down to the Animal Hospital.

Wow! Sewing up a cat that had been attacked by a coyote is almost as expensive as a 50-pound bag of that stuff we’re feeding our growing herd.

Aunt May White showed up out of nowhere. She was of Siamese origin, I think. But remember, I couldn’t be sure. We don’t know anything about cats. I did know right off we couldn’t name her Brownie. This cat meowed constantly and got right up in your face when doing so.

She reminded me of my Aunt May White. Not much imagination, I know. But when the shoe fits….

Aunt May White eats a lot more than her namesake. I can guarantee that. And we determined that she was going to be an “outside” cat immediately. Two female cats in the house just will not work. Then, of course, it got extremely cold one night.

Aunt May now enjoys a suite of her own. We closed off the back bedroom, back bath, and the baseball locker room. She is the queen of that portion of the house, and she reminds us of it every single day!

She and Cooney get crossways several times a day. It makes me appreciate Whitey… I mean Buddy, all the more. Frank is not much of a problem. He still takes his meals on the deck, but stays mostly under the radar. He appreciates life more than the others. ’Course, he’s been through more than most cats, or people, when you think about it.

The big blackish-gray, or maybe it’s grayish-black, cat came calling a few months ago. No way to tell his pedigree. And, at our house, that obviously doesn’t matter. But the sheer size of this cat made me think of switching to some Uncomplete, regular, ordinary, bargain brand cat food.

Cathy wouldn’t even consider calling him Gray Boy or Blackie. Smoke just seemed to fit. By now, I was contemplating just giving each one of them a number.

A big Purina truck, straight from the factory, delivers to our house every other Thursday. We have at least one cat eating somewhere in and around our house every single minute of every waking hour.

That boa constrictor is up to my neck….

Respectfully,

Kes