Thursday, October 16, 2008

Cat Tales

Behold his profile, Roman in nobility. The family cat, Albert, named after Walt Kelly’s alligator (see bonus copyright infringement below), is nearing the end of his reign. Sic transit gloria cattus! A lean mean muscle machine in his prime, Albert was a bone-crunching wildlife devourer. In retirement now, he’s a grizzled old coot, deaf, dreadlocked, and listing ever so slightly to the side. On the plus side, he no longer bites people.
About two months ago, this guy, a rather similar looking tomcat, showed up outside the house. He’s in very good shape, Cat Two, aka Drooly, but clearly starved for affection. He may have been abandoned or lost at the end-of-summer migration, when tens of thousands leave the island. Or he could just be freeloading, knowing my dad’s a soft touch. My dad tried to get Animal Control to take the cat away, but locally they send police officers for that, and, ahem, that didn’t work. As my dad tells it, the cat went into the trap, ate the bait, and then skillfully retreated backwards without setting off the trap. Funny thing, there’s a lot more crime on the island now…
The set-up seems obvious, destined almost. I’ll come back for a visit. Albert will have gone to join the Feline Choir Invisible, and Cat Two will have the run of the house. I wonder if he eats crickets?

1 comment:

knithound brooklyn said...

I don't know what it is about old dogs and old cats, but I always go soft in my heart over them. Albert looks like a wonderful guy.