…but oh, that Yellow Cat Next Door.
He lies in the middle of my driveway or the middle of our street like a poet having a bad day.
He uses our flowerbeds as his litterbox. Which might not be a big deal if dogs weren’t inclined to say, “Ooooooo. Chocolate protein snack bars!”
He sleeps on my front porch so my dogs can see him through the door and hurl themselves into paroxysms of cat-loathing rage. When I’m on the phone. Or sleeping.
He’s a sounder sleeper than I and can nap on top of the fence in the back yard while dogs try to climb the tree to get to him.
Saturday morning, he did a victory dance through his yard, our yard, and the yards of three other neighbors with a bird in his mouth.
That’s right: I’m living next door to murder in a fur coat.
I’ve always felt a lot of affection for him and his family, and great respect for his wife. As to whether Tim has really been a “guest” of her clinic, no comment.