CATAPALOOZA JOURNAL

It’s not that I don’t like cats. I do. It’s not the cats I hate, It’s my neighbors’ addiction to them. These people just have too many cats roaming the neighborhood. I’ve had a not-so-newborn kitten come strolling out of my garage. Neighbor said years ago that his cats had all been neutered. But the population explosion keeps bursting into my garden. Loads of cats. Lolling in multitudes on Neighbors’ front lawn, the street, my yard. Ambling about. Doing Things. Loud things. Gross things.

Neighbors in the house next-door have dozens of cats who frequent my yard. Who can blame them? But. Where are they peeing? And where are the cats peeing?

Birds no longer visit my yard. I’ve found the occasional dead one. Maybe they just died of old age. I hope so.

Chance, my cute but obnoxious Bichon, barks his head off whenever anything new happens anywhere on the earth. This morning on our walk, he crazy-barked at Leo, an old grey cat, named after Leonardo – Titanic – DiCapprio. That’s how long we’ve known this cat. Anyway, Chance is always shocked to see Leo.  My dog apparently joins me in living in the moment. Cats stroll by when I’m in my garden and scare the bejeezus out of me. I do not have pet cats so these encounters are always a surprise. Like Chance, I startle easily. I'm usually startled if I'm not asleep.

A walk became a drag recently when I had to haul Chance past one big cat elaborately digging, kicking, joyously pirouetting, and burying “treasure” at my garden’s edge. I shuddered and kept walking. On our return, we rounded the bend to see the same cat in the middle of my garden spraying Very High into the air. A disgusting fountain. When I was done gagging, I acquired boxes of mothballs and spread them on the border of our adjacent yards to try to make an invisible yard guard. Cats got gone for a day or two, but they’re back now and the garden stinks of mothballs so bad I’m avoiding being outside anyway. I’m just so pissed in so many ways!

More kitty porn: Two screaming cats midgarden going at it – “it” being something not good. I chased them down the driveway, out to the street corner, lobbing anything I could find. Scott heard the cat-erwalling halfway down the block and came running to chase the two farther away.

“What’s going on with them?” I asked.

“Two males fighting,” he replied. “It’s how we do!”

I’ve addressed my concerns with the Cat Rescue folks who said they’d stop by and see if they could offer some spaying information to my neighbor. I, too. have considered neutering, but Neighbor runs too fast. Rescue folks’ concern is for the cats left behind when their owners can no longer care for them, and the community is left with a new population of homeless cats.

I called Animal Control and learned that Neighbors are, apparently, allowed to have as many animals as they can take care of within their home. But there are leash laws. Even for cats. I’d have to register a complaint, but I don’t want to be a snitch.

I’m keeping a broom handy to chase furry brawlers out of my garden. Chance barks at the broom.

I decided to talk to Neighbors and say “There are leash laws. Keep your cats inside or I’m calling Animal Control.” I’ve been to their door and they wouldn’t answer the bell. I called but of course they didn’t pick up the phone. So I got to just leave my message. The cats disappeared by the next morning. I was so happy and relieved.

This lasted two days. I imagine the animals, so used to being free to roam, put up quite a stink inside, demanding to be let out.

Then:
One cat Two cats. Three cats. Four.

The parade through my garden resumed in full force. Kitty cartwheels. Clown cars full of cats. I didn’t know cats could moon and give the finger.

Yesterday I came upon a squirrel in my backyard that had been separated from his head. I don’t think they just fall from the trees and break into ghastly pieces.

Animal Control again: They would come and pick up the pieces if I bagged them. For a price.

There is no amount of money.

They said to dig a hole and bury them.

 No.

Exterminator finally came and picked up the furry remains. (A special dispensation: This is not what they do.)

All of my chasing and lobbing, whining and kvetching, gagging and grumbling and grousing and cussing had been to no avail.

So I lost the snitch compunction. I made the call to lodge a formal complaint. Animal Control Guy came and talked to me first. He said these people usually are not able to clean up their act until it costs them money. We might have to catch their animals on my property, confront Neighbors with the catch, whereupon they could bail out their pet(s), or see them sent off to the pound. We could start with Control Guy just talking to Neighbors. He went over and disappeared into their house and was there for some time.

I never heard the result, but the problem seemed resolved. For about a week there were no cats outside. Then the slinky shadow, bolting from under Neighbors’ car to their slightly opened door. One speeding silhouette so far. I just don’t think Neighbors are capable of stopping the onslaught. But now I have hope and a plan.

I’ll eventually put up a fence to keep the cats out of my yard and the toxic thoughts out of my head. Until then, I can handle (and even enjoy) a passing cat or two. When the kitty count rises and I’m again the involuntary party-goer in my own garden, then it will be time, again, to catch and confront.

I never want to fight. Confrontation is not my thing. I know that my neighbors will be broken-hearted and angry. But I’ll live with that, like I’ll live with Cheshire Squirrel heads haunting my dreams.