This spooked me out. It reminded me that I used to buy clothes from Kookai and that this was possibly no ordinary cat.
Kookai, a 40-pound male, jumped on my chest in the middle of the night, every night. He watched me all day in the house like an ex-con. He incited all the other cats to misbehavior and cat chases all night and all day. He was responsible for falling lamps and bullying behavior.
Kookai never missed an opportunity to get outside, either, so the threat of fleas always loomed large.
Ultimately, the preschool-swinging-screen-door-constant-cat-escape-problem made Kookai my enemy.
One day on my way up the stairs I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said to him via mental telepathy, "You don't scare me. You are OUT OF HERE!"
When two more outside cats joined the funhouse, we paid for neutering, flea treatments, at-home vet visits and litter on each end of the house in all directions.
Nothing was achieved in my life except managing the cat population.
The two outdoor cats never used the litter. They preferred to mess the landscaping, not covering their poop.
So the boys played in cat poop! How about that, all you health-care professionals!
Everyone ruined all my ferns. I ceased to care. I left Pop-Tarts on the butcher block and slept until 9. I went on strike.
Ultimately, I collapsed in the yard. I told my husband, "It's the cats or me. They must disappear."
But neither one of us had the heart to put them down, because once we took responsibility for them, we believed it was right to follow through.
There were no baby sitters during all this, of course, because, of course, it was too hot for them to work.
Fred called no-kill animal shelters until he was blue in the face -- even ones in Pennsylvania! He ended up just bribing my faithful housekeeper to address the problem. Three of the six cats found homes.
And I didn't lift a finger on ANY of this, and family breakfast started to appear again at the crack of dawn.
Reach Tracy Herz at tracyh...@gmail.com.