What’s new pussy cat

So recently I’ve been worrying I’m a little overprotective when it comes to the cat. He’s growing up, and pretty big now, and to be honest has a little too much attitude. When he was little there was no way I was letting him outside – I was worried some sort of massive bird of prey was going to swoop down from the skies and pluck his little body from the earth. In the last few weeks though I’ve been thinking I should possibly let him outside during the days, while I’m at work. Gradually for a couple of hours at a time, but then ultimately all day. I live on a quiet street. There’s a park and stuff. I have a nice big yard. There’s no reason why not.

I was just starting to get used to the idea. I was just beginning to reason with myself that he holds his own with Crackers and Briscoe (Al and Debbie’s tank-sized cats) so really he’d have no trouble with anything on the street. He’s tough like Tonka. But then something happened today to make me rethink the whooooole idea.

I met the neighbourhood bully.

I hadn’t been home long. The sun was starting to get low in the sky, but it was still seriously warm outside so I had the front door open but the screen door shut. Bowie wasn’t on the couch with me, but most of the time he’s not to be honest – he has his own little routines that don’t involve me, like dragging anything smaller than a basketball that’s not fixed down from the bedroom to the lounge room with his teeth, and then dragging them all back again. To each their own for entertainment I guess. Anyway, all of a sudden I hear this WHUMP on the front screen door, and then I hear Bowie hissing with all his might. I jump up and head to the door, and there is a cat the size of a small bear on my doorstep.

This is no normal cat. He is the weirdest colour I’ve ever seen, and has these wild crazy eyes about him. He’s one mean mutha fucker. My presence at the door didn’t seem to bother him. Bowie hunched down in front of the door, without backing down, but I’m sure his bravado was more than aided by the security door between him and the feline behemoth on the other side. This cat kept walking to the end of the verandah, turning around, and then catapulting himself at Bowie through the screen door. He was all spit and hiss and to be honest it was a little unnerving. I managed to shoo him away in the end, but I could tell he wasn’t really scared of my shooing – he probably just got sick of the game.

So, I’m gonna have to find a way around this. Tonight I’m thinking to myself I’ll feed Bowie up a bit more, let him get some body weight behind him, and then I’ll send him out into the fray. They should run self-defense lessons for cats. God forbid I ever have children. How on earth parents find a way to send their kids out into the world, without some form of heavy duty body protection, is really beyond me.

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