That Darn Cat!
I have never been a cat person. Just not a fan. But until recently I have always been willing to co-exist. However, I have just about had it with the feline hooligans on this island. You know, the ones with cropped ears and arrogant smirks. They swagger around town at all hours of the day and night like they own the joint.
My mom and I were running errands in town and we were walking down India Street towards the post office and I hear a whiny voice shout at me, “Hey dog breath!”
I turn to see three cats perched on the fence grinning and chuckling.
“The name is Marty!” I yell back through clenched teeth.
“Ooooh! Maaaaarty!” they all say in unison. And then burst into laughter.
I was trying to thinking of a good come back, but my mom yanked my leash and told me to keep walking, oblivious to the whole scene.
Later that afternoon I was napping by the backdoor, when I heard a tap on the storm door. It was one of the cats from India Street!
“Hey dog. You got anything to eat? I’m hungry.”
“I thought you guys had feeding stations,” I replied.
“We do, but I slept in this morning and missed the morning feeding. The one I go to for dinner won’t be filled for another hour. Be a good dog and get me some food out of your dish."
That did it! I jumped up and started growling. My mom came out of her office to see what was going on. “Oh Marty, it’s just a kitty cat. Isn’t he handsome?”
She open the door and went out on the porch to pet the cat. “I’m sorry, Kitty. I don’t have any food for you,” she gushed as she stroked his head. “Oh you poor thing.”
Meanwhile I’m on the other side of the door and the cat is smirking at me and taunting me. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I furrowed my brow and let out a loud bark. My mom jumped, which spooked the cat and he dashed off into the brush.
“Marty. What’s wrong with you?” my mom said sternly before returning to her office.
I hate being scolded, but it was a small price to pay to get rid of the critter. At least he’s gone, I thought. No such luck. No sooner had the feline fled the property, my mom was contacting Nantucket Cat Trap to find out how she could become a volunteer. Now she has a feeding station that she visits three mornings a week. And if the morning falls on a weekday, she cuts my walk short so she can get to the feeding station before she starts work.
It’s just ridiculous. Whenever I beg for treats or food and she says, “Marty, don’t beg. You know better.” But a faking feral feline shows up on her doorstep one afternoon and suddenly I’m playing second banana to a bunch of street cats.
My philosophy towards cats was “live and let live.” But I have reevaluated my outlook and have developed a new policy.
You insult me. You invade my space. You take away my walkies. THIS. MEANS. WAR!!