Territorial pissings

It’s probably not what Kurt Cobain had in mind, but I’m sick of having to rescue the cat from stand-offs. Last night he started “rrrrw”-ing and pacing the hallway at about 11.45pm:

Me: “Cat, I am trying to watch This Life.”
Cat: “Rrrrrrw!”

So I let him out. Half an hour later and I’m thinking it was a big mistake because I called and called and there was nothing. Visions of roadkill naturally filling my head, I started wondering just how loudly I can shout before I wake up the neighbours, and how long I can stand in the back doorway before I freeze. (Answer: quite a long time, it turns out.) After a while I became aware of a tabby cat sitting on the neighbour’s garage roof. A little while longer and there was the sound of grumbling, which turned into growling, which turned into yowling.

At this point I rolled my eyes and got my old DMs and a torch. I dunno, maybe Elgar would have sorted it out himself but fuck it, it was cold and late so I strode out into the garden, a picture in my PJs, and was met by a streak of black disappearing into the kitchen followed quite closely by a streak of tabby coming up the garden. Sod that. Now, I love all cats. I will stop and talk to cats in the street and make myself late but not in my cat’s territory! Tabby cat got the torchlight in its face and chased down the garden and over the fence. At 12.45am.

The sooner Elgar figures out he’s allowed to spray the fence the better. I want to, like, get some sleep.

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