Thursday, February 7, 2013

Kitty Love

Just when I don't think it can get any stranger, it does.

I've got a little gay dog who is in trouble with the law, another who uses medical Marijuana, a house full of girls, a Carnival of friends, am a member of The Bored, a Southern Baptist Minister without a Church, don't believe much in underwear, haven't had a hair cut in a couple of years, and believe that clothing is optional.

But that's nothing.

My neighbor, the Cat Lady, has several hundred feral cats, dresses in a pink fluffy bathrobe with bunny slippers and a blue towel wrapped around her head. Cat hair flies around forming a halo. Her voice screeches, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY" and makes me believe in the N.R.A., Capital Punishment and the right wing of the Republican Party.

But this is where it's gotten weirder.

Now, she has a lover.

I know, I just threw up a little too.

He drives a white Bronco and arrives just after dark wearing a white long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows, khaki pants and brown loafers. His hair is dirty blond and he uses product in it. His teeth are glistening white. Taking the stairs two at a time he rushes inside.

The Cat Lady's window are directly across from ours so I see them embrace. Cat hair flies around like a mini-tornado and it is obvious things are getting hot. She steps back and opens up the pink bath robe and wicked grin broadens on the man's face.

I throw up a little more.

She says something and closes her robe. Then she walks to the window and closes the shutters. I can no longer see anything.

A few minutes later, the cats begin to moan. It's a choir of long, slow, car horns that don't stop. The yellow shutters keep rhythmic timing as they bang against the window. It all grows in intensity until a giant cloud of cat hair erupts from the chimney.

Then all is quiet.

The next morning, I walk outside to make the short drive to the Breakfast Club. It is still dark and as I open the car door, he does too at the same time. He flashes me a Cheshire grin and his winkled white shirt has cat hair on it.

At that moment, the Cat Lady throws open the shutters and screeches, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY."

"Right here baby," he smiles at her.

I throw up a little, jump in my car and drive like a bat out of hell to The Breakfast Club where the coffee just won't wash the taste away in my mouth.