This isn’t working out. It’s not you; it’s me. No, actually it’s you. You’ve had your fun parading around my yard. I understand my house was uninhabited for quite some time. But now I’m here. I moved in two weeks ago, in case you didn’t realize. It’s time for you to leave. Hit the road. Vamoose.
Pardon my bluntness but I feel it’s the only way to get through to you. I’ve tried to be nice but based on the pee dripping down my sliding glass door, that doesn’t work with you.
You’re a guy and clearly not neutered. I get it. You need to mark your territory. But now it’s my territory. It’s my husband’s territory. It’s my indoor cat Milo’s territory. I find it very rude that you don’t seem to, pardon my French, give a crap.
The first urine incident was excusable. I cleaned it up and we both went on with our life. But then it happened again. In the same spot. Did you watch me clean it up, snickering cruelly? Was it a joke you shared with other cats during a Friday night meet up?
Then there was the other morning where you attempted to take a dump in my yard. I don’t care if there’s dirt there that resembles a litter box; take your bowel movements elsewhere. Milo forewarned me of your activity with a gracious meow, giving me time to run out to the yard and chase you away before you could squeeze one out. You were so frightened that you ran into the fence before crawling up and over it.
Do you remember that? I laughed at you. I took pleasure in your pain and embarrassment. I shouted obscenities. I threatened to cut you. I didn’t care who heard me as long as I got my message across. Over the next few days I didn’t find any urine or poop or cat tracks. I got cocky. I thought I was finally rid of you.
Until yesterday morning.
I was enjoying my coffee before leaving for work and there you were, having a stare down with Milo, with only the glass door separating the two of you by a few inches. I chased you away but your appearance threw me off and I couldn’t think of anything clever to shout. All I could muster was “hasta la vista!”
I know it didn’t make sense. Don’t you think I knew that?
I’m done with these amateur games. I’m pulling out the big guns. If I see you again, it’s on. You should probably know that I’m not a vegetarian and I hate PETA. Oh god! I’m not going to eat you! I’m not a monster.
But I will call animal control. I could care less if you get separated from your owners. I don’t care if little Tommy cries because Mr. Skittles is missing. If they loved you, they’d put a collar on you. They’d get you neutered. They wouldn’t let you roam the neighborhood like a common thug!
I will make sure you get taken away. I will spend the weekend setting out traps to catch you. I will not stop until you’re gone.
You can either pack your crap and go or get ready to live in a two-by-two metal cage. The ball is in your court. I’m waiting.
The New Alpha
Story by Melissa Darcey
Featured image via.