Beauty * and * Bread

For two awful, long, lonely nights I thought Satan had come to live with me.

Now I think I nay have dodged the bullet.

Those of you who are faithful readers of I Has a Cheezburger know Basement Cat. (For those of you who don’t, why not? It’s got the funniest photos of cats with captions in existence.)

Just about the time the Devil in the form of a young black feline came to haunt me, appeared this photo:

I actually didn’t know about Satan until my neighbor and her son showed up on my doorstep. You need to understand that I’ve lived here since the last week of March and have probably seen Mari three times, in passing, and her son once. The configurations of our houses make them very private. She’d never been in my house before, and I’ve never been in hers.

I never hear them–and I hope they don’t hear me. I asked her son if he’d been awakened by my screaming like a banshee at 5:30 that very morning when Foxy decided to head for the big gully behind the house. He claims he hadn’t.

They’d come with a mission. “Do you have outside cats?”

“Uh, no. I only have one very old, decrepit inside guy.” I invited them inside to meet The King.

Of course by now Foxy was screaming like a banshee at the intruders.

Mari’s son pointed out my front door. “That isn’t yours?” There stood Satan, in the form of a young, very black, very skinny kitteh, who was yowling for all he was worth.

“Nope. Grey Eagle is my only cat, and Foxy is my only dog. That’s it. Finito. The end.”

“Until Grey Eagle . . . goes . . ., right?” Mari’s son was sure he had my number.

“No. The end. Forever.”

Satan definitely thought otherwise because he decided to move in. He stood outside my windows caterwauling. All night. All freaking night. It wasn’t pretty.

He was still here that afternoon when I got home from work. When I went out to the deck to care for my green children, he came up, too. And twisted himself around my legs. He nearly tripped me, and he refused to take “no” for an answer when I tried to throw him off. I doused him with my watering can. He shook it off and came back for more.

This isn’t looking good, I told myself.

I got the hose, put the nozzle on firefighter force and sprayed him. He dashed off the porch. And came right back. Unfazed. Good God, what do I do to get rid of this fellow?

You have to realize that all this time a parallel train of thought was running through what little brain I have. This is a really sweet, lovable cat. He needs a home. Can I keep him, mom? Can I, can I? Then a third parallel thread took up its refrain. You have to work two jobs to feed the animals you have. You can’t keep him. End of story.

Conflicted? Confused? You bet.

Well, he’s gone now, it seems.

Yesterday when I came home, Satan was nowhere to be seen or heard. I think maybe Mari’s son, who happens to be a law enforcement ranger with the Forest Service, may have taken him off to jail.

It’s a good thing, too. Another day, and Satan would have had me. Lock, stock and barrel.

***

Post script. This entry first hit the Internet at 7:30 this morning. It is now 8:03 a.m. and he’s baaaccckkkkkkkkkkk. I can hear him out there. Somewhere. Plotting and scheming his insidious maneuvers to wind his way into my heart and my soul.