I suck and will try to do a better job of posting my "misadventures" more regularly. I posted these updates to my Facebook page back at the end of February and into March when my lovely neighborhood was overtaken with a pack, neigh, a gang of wild cats.
(Additional commentary: According to wikipedia, these are not called "gangs" or "packs" but "clowders of feral cats." You learned something new today! You're welcome.)
(Additional commentary: According to wikipedia, these are not called "gangs" or "packs" but "clowders of feral cats." You learned something new today! You're welcome.)
Day 1:
Since returning from my trip, a pack of wild cats have moved into the neighborhood and are terrorizing any dog under 30 pounds. They’re brazen. They’re evil. This will not end well. In fact, I can almost guarantee based on my history that one or both my dogs (perhaps even me) will end up in emergency care.
(Additional commentary: My neighbors were actually warning me against cat attacks and one Ukrainian woman explained that her dogs would not go near the grassy knoll because they were scared. P.S. Who uses the term grassy knoll unless you're referring to an assassination in Dallas? I was pretty sure based on the angry uprising from my neighbors that I was going to see wanted posters of these horrible cats.)
Since returning from my trip, a pack of wild cats have moved into the neighborhood and are terrorizing any dog under 30 pounds. They’re brazen. They’re evil. This will not end well. In fact, I can almost guarantee based on my history that one or both my dogs (perhaps even me) will end up in emergency care.
(Additional commentary: My neighbors were actually warning me against cat attacks and one Ukrainian woman explained that her dogs would not go near the grassy knoll because they were scared. P.S. Who uses the term grassy knoll unless you're referring to an assassination in Dallas? I was pretty sure based on the angry uprising from my neighbors that I was going to see wanted posters of these horrible cats.)
Update: I discovered that the "Cat Pack" terrorist cell is based out of the dumpster. How did I discover this you ask? Well, when disposing of what I had just picked up, one of the "Cat Pack" leaped from the dumpster at me as I was dropping the bags in - causing me to throw poop-filled plastic in a rather festive fashion while screaming like an idiot. That's right, my day ended with me literally getting scared shitless.
(Additional commentary: I was not wearing my pajamas at the time of the attack but I totally went home and started making wanted posters to start tacking up on trees and posts.)
My attempt at a wanted poster. It's awesome, no?!?
Update: The level of animosity between the dogs and the “Cat Pack” has now escalated from that of the YLO and the NHP Bloods to that of the Israelis and the Palestinians. And our walking route is now the Gaza strip. Not sure which side is going nuclear yet, but it's going to happen. Bank on that.
(Additional commentary: At this point, the neighbors and I would hear horrible hissing and screeching noises from the trees, bushes, parking garages, trash cans, etc. And every dog was either on high alert or totally terrified. Riley would just stare in the opposite direction of where Paris was pointed and barking. Poor little blind man. I do love him.)
(Additional commentary: At this point, the neighbors and I would hear horrible hissing and screeching noises from the trees, bushes, parking garages, trash cans, etc. And every dog was either on high alert or totally terrified. Riley would just stare in the opposite direction of where Paris was pointed and barking. Poor little blind man. I do love him.)
Update: Anyone bet on the Pug getting cat-attacked first? One of the"Cat Pack" went all Mission Impossible on Riley's ass jumping on him from a tree like Tom Cruise leaping from a building. Riley suffered a couple scratch marks and a wounded ego before Paris and I got the cat off him (you don't mess with Riley's bitches). Their strategy to attack the weaker member of our party was a low blow...
(Additional commentary: As you know, Riley is mostly blind so he never saw the attack coming and couldn't understand why he was in so much pain all of sudden. He had three or four bite marks on him as well as a barrage of scratches which ultimately put him in a plastic cone of shame while his wounds healed. Paris and I heard the attack but before we could intervene and get the cat off the Pug, I had to wield and unruly Dalmatian away from the fur pile. It was not my best day. But I think Riley's was worse.)
(Additional commentary: As you know, Riley is mostly blind so he never saw the attack coming and couldn't understand why he was in so much pain all of sudden. He had three or four bite marks on him as well as a barrage of scratches which ultimately put him in a plastic cone of shame while his wounds healed. Paris and I heard the attack but before we could intervene and get the cat off the Pug, I had to wield and unruly Dalmatian away from the fur pile. It was not my best day. But I think Riley's was worse.)
Update: Now the dogs get all crazy and rush any trash dumpsters (since that’s where evil cats reside), so I've taken to hissing or barking every time I throw away poop bags or go near a dumpster. This precaution is actually working quite well, except now it's becoming a bad habit and my neighbors think I’m crazy. Like batshit crazy. But maybe it’s because I’ve started carrying a water bottle filled with my own mixture of pepper spray while walking my dogs in my pajamas AND barking at trash cans?
(Additional commentary: This look is just as hot as you think. I rock that look. Period).
So here's where my story ends: My sister was listening to this series of cat traumas and asked if I'd called Animal Services.
Shit. Ummmm...no.
This is why she's a Vet. And clearly brilliant.
I encouraged my neighbors to help me with my "save the puppies" campaign by calling our local Animal Services office and the building next door (where the dumpsters - aka cat condos - were located).
About three weeks later, the dogs and I were cautiously walking our route when a small cage buried in the bushes caught my eye. Riley made his way towards it with his nose to ground until the damn thing let out a screech and hissing noise - complete with cat claws reaching through the opening. Riley promptly turned around, lifted his back leg and peed on the cage and the cat.
I'm pretty sure he was thinking "Enjoy your new home you little bastards." Well played Riley. Well played.
