I got home tonight from a day trip to NY and gave the older kids a bath. While we were in Patti and my bedroom, me, Ethan and Emily, watching TV after the bath, just relaxing before bed, probably one of my favorite times of day with the kids, I heard a cat screaming outside. There are a couple street cats in the neighborhood so I hear loud cat screams now and again, not a very nice sound.
Emily: What's that dad?
Me: Some poor cat is on the losing end of a fight.
So this went on for a few minutes until I decided to look at what cat was getting his ass handed to him and I took a gander out of our second story window. There, in our neighbors yard, on the other side of a chain link fence, under a large Rhododendron, I saw Finley, our house cat, backed up against the fence screeching, paws up protecting his face, eyes closed, mouth piece hanging out of the side, trying to get away, while something that I couldn't see was beating the tar out of him. Yep, our cat was getting his ass handed to him.
I assume the winner in this boxing match was another cat, but since my ferocious lion was the only one making a sound, I couldn't tell.
Now, as much as I hate to admit this, my first thought was "good for him, now he gets to see how really green the grass is". You see, Finley tries to escape all the time. He is fixed but whenever a door is open, he shoots out like a torpedo. So I kind of fell back on "if yoiu want to run with the big dogs, you have to get off the porch." After all, if Finley fancies himself a street cat, then he's going to have to learn how to fight like a street cat. Running through a cat door to get away from a bunch of 2 year olds is nothing compared to the mean feline streets of Milton.
But looking down on our charcoal colored cat, I knew I had to rescue him. So I lept down the stairs two at a time, ran out our front door in my tshirt and boxers, said hello to a guy up the street, Steve, who I know, and got Finley out of the combat zone.
Finley will push around our friend's 70 pound yellow lab when he's in our house, but I guess he is not ready for the proud southie cats that have made their way to our neighborhood. Finley, little friend, stick with your own kind.
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