I am not a fearful person, but I admit that I am a glass-is-half-empty type gal. I expect that things will go wrong. Like I expect that when I turn the ignition in my car, the car bomb that was randomly placed there by a domestic terrorist will go off, killing me. Or, that Adam will die a tragic death days before baby is born, leaving me alone, pregnant and grief-stricken. Oh, and I completely expect that someone will break into my house in the middle of the night, and that I will have to hide in the dark shadows, waiting with a knife to jump on the intruder from behind and slit his throat. I tend to expect these types of things to happen.
Last week, when I was recovering from that respiratory infection, I was awoken around 2am to the gurgling sounds of Greg House vomiting on my window sill. The last thing I wanted to have to do at 2 am was clean up a vomit-soaked cat and window, but fearing he was really ill, I rolled over and pushed myself into a sitting position. I pulled back the blinds and found House, not vomiting, but making an awful racket at something on the front porch. I peered into the darkness, fearing what I'd see. My heart plummetted as I caught something moving just outside my window. Just as I was about to run for a knife, I realized it was a cat; in fact, it was the cat Adam affectionately refers to as "House's brother."
This is a big ole grey tom cat that struts around the neighborhood all day and night, in and out of people's yards, crossing the street like he owns the place, fat and happy. He's not really House's brother (we don't think), but since both cats are grey and on the streets, Adam likes to pretend they're related. I've tried on a few occasions to pet him, but while he is obviously someone's cat--he's too well-fed to be a stray--he's not nearly as friendly as Greg House is. But that doesn't mean he won't take advantage of my yard as his personal hunting ground, toilet and resting spot. In fact, one day earlier this winter, this cat sat for 10 minutes watching as I shoveled out my driveway. When I finally asked him if he was going to just sit there and watch or actually help me, he turned his nose in the air and slinked silkily past me. As if.
So, back to that night. Once I realized it was House's brother, I was amazed by how he was reacting to Greg House. This guy was standing on his hind legs, front paws on the outside window sill, nose to the glass, looking in. Greg House was having a conniption fit, literally spitting he was so angry. I was fascinated. The two cats were nose-to-nose at the window, one calm and happily instigating a fight, the other worked up and itchin for a showdown. I laughed despite the late (or early?) hour, picked up House, and tried to put him back to bed. But he could not be contained until his "Brother" left the porch a few minutes later.
A few nights ago, I was awakened to the pained warbles of a seemingly ailing kitty. I sat up with a jolt, looking for House. He had not come to bed that night, so I immediately stumbled out of bed, running into the living room to find him. All I could think was that he had bitten his open wound too deeply and started hemmorhaging, or that he'd gotten an infection that was making him sick. But when I turned on the lights to the living room, he was sitting--his front legs tucked in underneath him, his eyes half-closed--as if he didn't have a care in the world. I was a bit confused, but decided to bring him to bed anyway, just in case. Pretty much as soon as he settled into bed next to me, he jumped away, into the windowsill. And that's when I heard the cry again...but it wasn't coming from House, it was from outside. Greg started his gurgling vomiting sounds again, and I knew that his "Brother" must be back. Sure enough, the two cats were nose-to-nose again, with just a double pane window separating them. Greg chortled and hissed until finally his "Brother" sauntered away, but Greg paced the house for several minutes thereafter, agitated and angry.
Last night was the same deal. What started out as a funny little encounter has now become a nightly nuisance. "House's brother" seems to be coming by for a visit every night now, stirring up Greg House and waking me up. I have to attempt to calm House during the altercation, and meanwhile miss out on my own full 8 hours of sleep. A coworker also warned me that two male cats squaring off day after day (or, rather, night after night) might result in one or both of them attempting to define his territory...if either of these cats sprays, inside or out, they are both out on the street for good!
Lucky for Kika, she sleeps through the whole thing.
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