Cat Lady Love

Just when I didn't think things could get any worse ...

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" she screeches.

I'm having a glass of wine on the beloved back deck with Winston, the little gay dog, who is wearing a wife beater tee-shirt that says in rainbow colors "Let's get one thing straight! I'm not!" while Goddess is wearing sunglasses after sucking a heavy bag of medicinal marijuana.

The three of us turn and look in the Cat Lady's direction. Three mouth's drop open simultaneously. Each of us throw up a little in our mouth.

She is wearing a bathing suit!

A yellow and purple one piece that looks like its stuffed with sausage. A blue towel is wrapped around her head that's covered with cat hair from the numerous feral felines living with her. Looking like Marge Simpson on meth, she is carrying one end of a Kayak.

The sunglasses drop off Goddess' face as she looks at Winston, the little gay dog, who is looking at me. In unison our eyes move to the other end of the Kayak which is being carried by a sandy hair, sculpted bodied, bronzed skin, man with a dazzling white smile.

Over the past several months, the Cat Lady has moved from living alone with her feral felines to having a parade of hairless bodied, sculpted men with perfect hair and dazzling smiles parade in and out of her house.

We hear their moaning at night in the heat. Low purrs build in sexual tension to loud wails of sweet release. Cat hair flies out of the sliding glass doors of her back deck as do the blue towel and yellow bath robe she usually wears. Afterwards we hear the sounds of licking as they clean themselves up.

This happens with increasing frequency causing Winston, the little gay dog, to run and hide under our bed and lick himself. Goddess rolls another one and gets stoned out of her mind. Sarah and I turn up the television trying to drown out the mating calls.

Her latest "Boy Toy" is flashing his million dollar smile at her as his blue eyes fill with lustful anticipation.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" she screeches again and a dozen feral felines fall in line behind her as they make their way down the street to the Back River where they will launch the Kayak and God knows what else?

Our three heads shake as though choreographed as they round the corner.

Winston, the little gay dog, points at his shirt with his paws that have red toe nail polish on them.

"We get it," I say for me and Goddess.