the ripper

This morning I looked out the porch screens and saw Clay walking a dog.  Or, at least I thought it was a dog.

"Clay!" I shrieked.  "Put your cat back in your house!  We have Daddy cat out here and Molly and wild turkeys and foxes.  Put your cat back in your house!"

For two years and around 2,000 phone calls, Clay asked about his cat, Charlie.  I reassured Clay that Gary was taking care of Charlie and he need not to worry.  But, today, I saw Clay risking Charlie's life.  Charlie, the cat he so adores.

Heck.  My puppies are not even leashed trained.

After I divorced and moved to Louisville in the late 60's, I had a female Siamese cat.  I visited my Mom and Dad one weekend and took "Siam" (clever name, huh?) with me.  I also took a light blue leash with rhinestones set in it.  The leash, of course, matched Siam's eyes.

What was I thinking?  I put the leash on the cat, opened the front door, and the cat took five steps and layed down on the sidewalk.  "WALK!" I demanded.  But, no, Siam would not even stand up.  Do you want to know what I did?  I drug that cat along the sidewalk with her lying on her back, feet sticking straight up in the air.  I was so determined to walk my cat that day. 

Didn't happen, though.

Finally, I got exasperated and drug Siam back to Mom's front door.  Then I reached down to pick her up and WHAP!  WHAP!  SLICE!  SLICE!

Yes, indeedy.  I was a bloody mess after Siam got done with me.  My arms were bleeding.  My face was bleeding, and my fingers were in shreds.

Therefore, I vowed NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER to try to walk a cat on a leash again.  I wanted to rename my cat The Ripper.  Plus, I'm not ever sure I liked her anymore.  Poor kitty.

"Be careful, Clay!  There's wild animals out there!" I shouted.

Oh, well.

 

 

 

Comments

[Mary Piercey]

I love this!