"Goddamn it! Get outta there!" Damn it goddamn cat get OUTTA the birdbath NOW! Cat can't follow orders worth a damn.
Jeeeezus beer hurts when you snort it out your nose but I can't stop laughing - the little fucker just fell into the water. Serve him right.
They couldn't get a nice, normal American cat, could they? Not a nice, quiet striped cat or yellow cat or black cat like anybody else.
"Mrrraaaaaooooowwwrrrrr!" I swear to god that's what it said. Among other things.
What did I do to deserve this? I've been a good neighbor! But this . . . they had to get one of the noisiest, motor mouthed, loudest cats I've ever heard. They tell me it's talking. It gets under my blasted window and it talks in the middle of the night.
It's talking now, as it jumps up onto my deck. I sip my beer carefully, watching it. I've wasted more beer since they got this klutz of a cat. It falls off things. It runs into things. It knocks down things. And every time it seems like another mouthful of beer gets spluttered away because, let's face it, it's pretty damn funny when their cat goes tumbling off my deck or falls over into my birdbath and tries to act like it did it on purpose.
Siamese. It's got blue eyes. Too weird.
Oooohhh no, you little bastard, keep AWAY from my pizza. Hey! I lunge to catch the box before the damned animal can pull it off the table onto itself, and the little sneak makes off with an anchovy. Beginners luck. Don't tell me that was planned!
Here it comes again. Stubborn, just won't give up little . . . no, I don't like you get OFF of my . . .
Jesus. I sure as hell hope nobody catches me letting the little sneak get away with this. Carter. Carter'd never let me hear the end of it and I just thank God and the Joint Chiefs of Staff she's in Washington right now. He's got the softest fur behind his ears, though and I can feel him purring as he eats his piece of pizza.
Blue eyes blink up at me as the little beggar licks his chops and curls up on my lap, purring.
Hell. Tell me there's no one around. Please please please don't let anyone show up at my door and catch me with the little mooch.
There's an anchovy left in the box. His whiskers are twitching and I swear to god the little shit's smiling at me as I let him eat the furry fish. His tongue's kind of rough. But his fur's just . . .
Soft. Soft touch. Damned cat's still damp from the bird bath. I'd toss him off my lap but it's too much trouble by now.
At least he doesn't like beer.
