Brownie cat now has a suitor.
I peeked out the window this morning to say good-bye to Brownie before I left for work. She already had her breakfast and few pets on the head. Usually by this time, she’s sitting pretty as you please, with her tail wrapped around her paws and peering into the window. On a warmer day, she waits for a snack or to press up against the window purring. On colder days, she hunkers down in her box, with an eye towards the window, ready to slink out if she deems it worth the effort.
However, on this particularly crisp and freezing morning, I was met with a punch-in-the-gut type of surprise.
“Oh my God!” I screamed and panicked as I tried to open the sliding glass door.
A big, fat tom cat was outside, swishing his tail and harassing the little cat inside of the box. There was Brownie, cowered down, in the temporary safety of her cardboard box; while the tom cat lapped up her water and took a mouthful of her leftover kibble from breakfast. He was taunting her, walking back and forth, while she continued to hold her position inside of the box.
I could only see her face and green eyes, wide with fear and terror at this awful cat, strutting about and claiming the patio for his pleasure. He was about to do the same with Brownie, if he could break into her box or catch her dilly-dallying about in the snow.
As for me, I was filled with rage that this intruder and bully would terrify my little cat, eat her food and drink her water.
We don’t want no scrubs around here, in the borrowed words of TLC, and that goes for this big damned bully of a cat. Finally, I got the door open and unleashed my fury on that he-ball of fur. I won’t describe that scene, other than, it got ugly.
As he ran off, I shook my fist and screamed after him, “Don’t come back, you scrub, or else!”
The cat stopped at the road, turned his thick neck, and looked at me with an evil swish of his tail, as if to say, Or else what?
By then, I was running late and upset about what would happen to my poor little Brownie cat as soon as I left. She was alone and mostly defenseless with just a set of claws, and a cardboard box to her name. I wondered at where I should draw the line and how to best protect her. Then the lingering thought began to plague me that my husband had warned of: one stray leads to two strays and behold, a colony is born.
This has brought to light a deep fear, perhaps he is right and a cat colony is on the brink of formation on our back patio. It could be an unstoppable situation as I still can’t catch Brownie to take her to the vet to get spayed. I can’t stop feeding her because it’s the middle of winter and unless a little martyr-minded bird takes mercy on Brownie and sacrifices itself, she’ll starve. Not even trash is edible after an hour at negative five degrees. What if she tells her cat friends and more come, or worse, she had relations with that cat, and soon we will have kittens?
Right now, I know just where to draw the line. It is with Brownie, my outside cat, my pet and my furry little work in progress. If only I could convince her to come inside, away from the cold and the suitors, before it’s too late and we have 7-12 little Brownies.