A stray cat wandered into our backyard yesterday. Our dog, who is always eager to help the less fortunate, made multiple attempts to peacefully redirect it elsewhere.
At least that’s how I like to think everything started.
Regrettably, by the time I made it outside to see what all the commotion was about, diplomatic negotiations had already broken down between them. The cat, to its credit, had established a dominant position on top of our six-foot tool shed and was ruthlessly mocking my dog’s inferior jumping skills. My dog, meanwhile, was wildly circling the yard in search of sticks he could use to build a weapon. Or a ladder. Or maybe a pyre. It’s hard to know exactly what he was thinking since I wasn’t privy to his plan so I just yelled “Get out of here, cat!” which I thought would diffuse the situation but instead served as some sort of battle cry because my dog was suddenly like “Yeah! Get out of here, cat!” and the cat was all “You want a piece of this, too, Baldy?” then puffed itself up in an arch of fury and started making vulgar cat gestures AT ME which caused my dog to lose his mind and incited him to parkour up the front of the shed just far enough to obtain a mouthful of cat.
This surprised all of us.
The cat, again to its credit, handled the situation like a pro. After being unwillingly transported to the ground, it quickly extracted itself from my dog’s mouth, spat out several pointed obscenities AT ME, then bolted across the lawn and over the fence all before the resulting plume of grass and dirt and fur had settled back to earth.
My dog, who was slow getting up, missed the cat’s entire getaway. Without any evidence of a dead body, then, he naturally concluded he’d swallowed it sometime during their tumultuous descent. Now he’s completely obsessed with our shed because he thinks it’s some sort of giant PEZ dispenser for cats.
I really hope it’s out of refills.