It's best to be honest about it. If I had a gun I would shoot the cat that is screeching and her owner who is also screeching.
"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY," she yells from her back deck dressed in a faded pink bath robe with cat hair flying around and a blue towel wrapped high on her head.
She looks and sounds like Marge Simpson on meth!
The cat is moaning in the bushes below and obviously not happy that her owner is up and calling for her.
It is a beautiful morning. A northeast ocean breeze blows cool air on a warm day. Leaves dance, choirs of birds sing and a brilliant sun rest in the branches of the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. Goddess lovingly snores underneath my feet which dangle from the high top chair on the beloved back deck. Winston, the little gay dog, is quiet and preoccupied licking himself. Sarah is asleep and I sit in thoughtfulness thinking deep things.
Then the cat starts moaning seconds before my neighbor the Cat Lady starts screeching as she is apparently unaware of noise ordinance laws on Tybee Island.
Because I do not own a gun and can't take her out now, I contemplate calling the police. That would be easy. You can get arrested for anything on the island now. It's not like the old days when you really had to try!
Now Tybee is a dichotomy of free spirited loving people and Nazis. The church people mostly get along while the politicians take sides spitting venom at one another. The marsh is changing seasons ... from the brilliant greens that I love to a golden brown that almost looks like a wheat field.
Beauty drips everywhere on a morning that God made just for me.
Until the Cat Lady wakes.
Then Hell comes on earth as it is in ... HELL!
Suddenly I believe in violence, the NRA, carrying concealed and not-so-concealed weapons, Satan and Rush Limbaugh.
Cat Lady sees me sitting here. Goddess growls. Winston, the little gay dog, stops licking himself and growls too assuming the position beside his older sister.
"Good morning," Cat Lady screeches.
I nod and shake my head trying to conjure a response but it just won't come.
She turns and walks back inside leaving a swirling cloud of cat hair.
The cat moans again.
Suddenly, Goddess, Winston the little gay dog and I all feel sorry for the cat.
