I can however tell ya what my Caterday involved.
1) Cat scat
B) Feline vomit
III) Words with my neighbor
Sorry you have to see cat scat.
Welcome to a portion of my world.
Some of you are asking yourself, 'does BBG have a cat?', the answer is no. Which makes the how and why I have a * #Caterday story * all the more befuddling. But here we are. Funny. That was pretty much my waking thought as I opened the slider to the deck to kick off the day. Crisp 'n cool morin' air greeted me as I stepped out to set about H2O-ing the plants of BBG HQ. I was also greeted by a pile of cat shit in one of my flower pots. For. The. Second. Morning. In. A. Row. ...Here we are...
I looked right and spied with my eye a puddle of cat hurl. Naturally, I was infuckingfuriated. Like, still in my pj's and I'm police knocking (aka: not a polite 'n dainty knock) on your door, infuriated. I went over intending to ask Kooky McBean to help me with something at my place and when she got here giving her a baggie to pick her 'outdoor cat' shit up and clean its sick. She was home. I know because it was her I'm-feeding-feral-cat-noise on her deck that woke me the hell up in the first place. (She went in when I heard me open my deck door.) Unless she possesses the magical powers of Samantha Stephens she didn't leave in the three seconds it took me to walk out my front door and knock on hers. In fact, I could hear her clankin' around inside as I rang the bell. She didn't answer. I went to my other attached neighbor who sits on the condo board, she came over to witness the ramifications of Kooky McBean's defiance in complying with the law forbidding feeding, harboring feral cats.
Again, sorry you have to see
cat puke. At least you don't
have to clean it.
Quick question. Do you know what's in wild cat shit? Yeah, neither do I. But I'm bettin' whatever badness it is isn't healthy for you to be dealin' with. So I'm sure as shit someone who's immune system is incapable of successfully fighting off bacteria and virus doesn't have any business cleaning up after wildlife.
(Possible Cat-aclysmic Cat Scat Fact:
This has been an ongoing, and super fucked up situation. Here's when it started. So while (Spoiler: Lame and intended pun alert!) crappy, and a cat-astrophe, not particularly (sadly and irritatingly) unusual conditions. But #Caterday took a turn y'all. Things turned legit unusual. Ya see, after I picked up feline fecals and hosed (bleached and scrubbed) down the former belly contents of a cat wildling, I returned to the 'bidness of doin' me, which a lil' later in the day included caulking a place at the deck screen door.
Whilst BBG DIY-ing I heard Kooky McBean come out on her deck (Fact: Caulking is a pretty silent project, I know she had no idea I was out there too.) Next thing I know I hear "Excuse me" come out of my mouth. Between the slats of the 6' separating fencing between us I see her freeze. Then I'm like, um, "I can see you". I ask if she could come over because I'd like her to attend to her cats* scats. Once she flat out denied having any other than the two she says she has inside, I became oh-no-you-fuckin'-didn't angry. Ya see, the local BBGville city code enforcement has already visited, observed and photographed the conditions at Kooky McBean's. She has received several written notices for her to comply, she has not. The case has been turned over to the city prosecutor. By all rights that-- all of the things above should be the crazy part of this tale.
* I'd estimate that since Kooky McBean created this cat circumstance there have been 4-5 batches of new cats. The last time the BBGville city code enforcement visited to observe her status in complying with the law he took a photo showing 4 kittens on her deck being housed and fed. So which free range cat of hers? Who the fuck knows.
Yeah. I said, "housed and fed", as if that's a reasonable phrase to turn when discussing wildlife. I have to say a lot of things that sound ridiculous. Imagine the trauma of having to say things that aren't actual things. I know people think I'm just putting incongruent words together when I explain the situation; 'Outdoor litterbox', 'outdoor cat bed', 'outdoor scratching posts' all make it sound like I'm the crazy one. Until you see it with your own eyes and realize that what sounded wacko is exactly the reality of the ta-doin's.
|Why yes, you are seeing an 'outdoor scratching post' |
and an 'outdoor litterbox'. The Rubbermaid-y tubs?
Look closely. They're cat houses. The one with the
brick on the lid faces her kitchen window so she can
watch the cats.
Obviously, I did not shoot and kill a cat. Those who know me know that this, of course, never happened. Strangers, you're hearing a one sided story, you can come to your own conclusions, but I assure you the peeps who know me have already realized that if I had a twenty-five cat problem I would never kill 1 cat. I would have devised some sort of Ocean 32-ish/Rube Goldberg-y plan to have killed them all. That's how you solve a problem. Having 24 cats roaming your outdoor space is no improvement of circumstance.
This marks the first time I've been accused of redrum. It was a real seminal moment. So while I'm pissy at the actual situation I simultaneously find myself kinda super amused at the fact that this is the current reality of my life... BBG: Accused Murder.
Fact: I have not ruled out the possibility of acquiring a tear drop cheek tattoo.
|Gladys Kravitz. Always Remembered.|
To be perfectly honest with you I had trouble focusing in on the remainder of what she had to say as the copkid in me drifted off on a logic stream of; ...Wait. So you are actually floating the notion that one day I just decided it was a good idea to discharge a firearm. In quiet suburbia. From a condo (where neighbors, nay witnesses are literally 12" away?) . Like it's something I/anyone could get away with doing completely unnoticed by every Gladys Kravitz in the 'hood? And that I would have bet my freedom on authorities not noticing that a/or many(?) bullet hole(s) came from, um, right next fucking door? The most rudimentary logistics of your story don't even add up, Kooky McBean...
I've always suspected Kooky McBean to be a loon, but that was based solely on her actions. In all these years I'd never exchanged more than a few words with her until #Caterday. But hearing her claim that she filed a police report on me confirmed to me that she is, in fact, bat shit crazy.
I'm not proud of what I'm about to disclose. It's a, it-had-to-be-this-way, but-not-by-my-choice, kinda thing. Once I could get my fat fingers to type in the right code I started recording the conversation (which seems like a misnomer when describing an interaction where one party freezes and pretends not to exist...) with Kooky McBean because based on my suspicion that she was a kook (hence her codename) I felt it in my best interest to have a record of the involvement.
I know I'm supposed to love thy neighbor. She's made that impossible. I'm currently just tryin' not to