I'm not superstitious so such things do not bother me.
I'll tell what does bother me though.
It's a beautiful morning bathed in sunshine, the slightest ocean breeze, flowers blooming everywhere, salt hangs in the air and the ocean sings in the distance.
I feel as God's given me entry into the Garden of Eden because everything is just perfect!Then ...
"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!"
Against my will, my head slowly turns towards the ghastly orange house beside ours to see her.
Wearing a filthy yellow bath robe, pink bunny slippers and a blue towel piled high on her wet head, she looks like Marge Simpson on meth.
"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY," she screeches again sounding like fingernails on a chalk board and my golden brown skin crawls as Goddess and Winston, the Little Gay Dog, run inside and hide under the bed.
Gypsy, the formerly gender confused cat, hides in the shower ... which Sarah happens to be in.
Suddenly branches start breaking, clouds appear out of nowhere hiding the sun, and the air fills with the sounds of a hundred feral cats from as far away as Dicky Trotter's boat at the Tybee Marina clawing their way to my next door neighbor ... THE CAT LADY.
My blood curls ... when she adjust her robe and cat hair falls to the ground like dirt from Pigpen on "It's a Charlie Brown Christmas."
"HERE KITTY, KITTY ... oh hey Mike," she screeches, suddenly seeing me here naked on the Beloved Back Deck.
"Good morning Cat Lady," I limply sigh.
Before she can say anything, hundreds of black feral cats cover her like the plague.
I wonder where the Tybee Island Animal Control Para-military squad is?
If Goddess barks ... or Winston, TLGD, wears a black wife beater tee-shirt with pink letters that read, "Why do police officers wear tight clothes and dressy shoes? Doesn't it slow them down chasing crooks?" ... well, Tybee Island Animal Control is at our house with police backup.
But the Cat Lady has conclaves of feral cats moaning and humping her on her back deck and everything's fine because everybody on this island loves freaking feral cats.
Taking this is as a sign from God to get the Hell away from her as quickly as possible, I dart inside and shut the sliding glass doors.
Ted Nugent is singing "Cat Scratch Fever" on the radio and I pause to rethink if I'm superstitious or not.
