October 25, 2010; Winter Cats

It wasn't just the crisp autumn weather that reminded me that soon I would be balls-deep in snow. I was walking with Boo-Boo, this morning, when we ran into Cleo and Slicer who were foraging in the garbage always piled up in the alley behind our place. I turned to Boo and as there was no one around I said, "These two are friends of mind, can we stop and talk for a bit?"

"Oh! Good grief! You have cat friends and you can talk to them...well, why not!" (Let it be said that Boo was still having trouble coming to terms with this whole me-talking-business.)

"Heya, Sweetie, heya Slicer!" I said. Cleo gave me a little peck on the nose and Slicer roared/howled/shrieked; that noise that always has me flinching.

"Jesus!" Boo gasped and I could almost hear his balls crawling up from his scrotum and into his belly.

"So what are you two up to?" I asked.

"Supper," yowled Slicer.

"It's ten in the morning!" I said.

"For us alley folk it's always supper!" Slicer cawed and then made a sound I knew he called a laugh but that the rest of the world—including Boo, who actually blanched—heard as a cry of "Murder!"

"We have to fatten up for winter," said Cleo. Though this sounded like a somber thought from an alley cat—especially one new to the scene like Cleo¿she seemed cheerful. She saw me looking at her sadly and said, "No! No! No! We get nice and fat and there is this nice porch, two blocks over, under which this wonderful lady jams blankets and hay for Slicer and me. She even feeds us—"

"—but she has a rule—" Slicer gurgled.

"—yes, we can stay there as long as we don't bring dead things under the porch!" She mewed with amusement and—God help us—Slicer "laughed" and I peed a little and Boo swayed back. "The lady is quite dandy. Not one of those cat people but one of those mystics who knows about animals talking and understanding."

"Mystic?" I asked.

"Yes," Cleo said, "the ones who have never heard an animal talk in their language but who know...just know!"

"Do they need anything for winter?" Boo asked me.

"Oh! isn't he sweet!" Cleo chirped and Slicer, first, snarled in agreement and then went over to Boo and wrapped himself around Boo's legs in thanks.

"What's he doing?" Boo asked nervously.

"Checking out the size of your balls...as a possible meal," I teased and Slicer bellowed/bawled another laugh. Boo leaned down and tried to pet the tom and got a clawed swat in answer. He jumped back.

"He must never—never!—touch Slicer!" Cleo whispered. I translated for Boo and added, "He's not a house cat!"

Then, in English, Slicer yowled, "Nooooooooooooooooo!" (No one would have noticed he was speaking a human language because cats make all sorts of sounds which sound human—like those baby-being-tortured yodels in the summer, when they are in rut.)

We all said goodbye and the cats went back to the garbage. "Strange world, isn't it?" I said to Boo while we were still in the alley.

"Strange, yes, but so interesting." I looked up at him, saw that he was smiling, and realized he was coming around.