I despise him with all of my physical and metaphysical being.
When he first started hanging around full-time, he (our assumed pronoun – we’ve never checked) was shy, thoughtful, and timid. He was grateful for the food we gave him and was never demanding or rude in any way.
That was over a year ago.
In the last four months, he has…
….peed on (and ruined) my porch furniture cushions. (I needed new ones anyway, so used this as an excuse to upgrade said porch cushions.)
….peed on the new (thankfully watertight) porch box I now store my new furniture cushions in to prevent feline urination.
….puked on the porch stairs.
….pooped on the porch.
….left half-eaten chipmunks on the porch.
(Like literally half a chipmunk.)
(The front half.)
(With the guts dangling out.)
…left just the intestines of an unidentified animal on the welcome mat.
(Nothing says welcome like disembodied bowels.)
…left bird crumbs on my new welcome mat (after I couldn’t handle the bowel-ey welcome mat.)
But Thomas’ ultimate horror show was more subtle…
During the holiday season, my dear husband’s yearly display of Christmas lights weren’t working one evening when the children and I returned home. At first I feared the power was out.
But it wasn’t…puzzling.
I didn’t touch the light display – I am not qualified. So I left the situation for Chris to figure out after returning from a hard day’s work.
Chris investigated. Chris called me outside. Chris methodically walked me through the situation, with an eery calmness in his voice.
The Stupid Porch Cat had…
a.) Crawled over a piece of furniture and under another,
b.) Wedged his devil self into a very precarious position,
c.) Vomited INTO the surge protector from which all lights originated,
d.) Shorted out the entire display.
The cat clearly upgraded himself to the level of Deranged-Aunt-Bethany’s-Christmas-Vacation-Cat. Next year Thomas is most definitely going to find a way to make our Christmas Tree explode.
We desperately wanted to wrap him in a box and re-gift him to a large-hearted relative. We even begged said large-hearted relatives to take him with them when they left town.
Puzzlingly, they refused.
But seriously, y’all. What does one do with an emotionally abusive stray cat?
Do we quit feeding him (yes we still feed him 1-2 times a day, depending on the quantity and loudness of his meows)?
And if we do quit feeding him, how much physical and emotional damage will he do to us as a family before he goes and finds another family to haunt?
Can we pay someone to drive him to another county? Or state? Or Mexico?
Can we seek out a stray guard dog, which will then turn our porch woes into a sequel of “There Was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly”?
I seriously need to know the proper procedure here. And I might’ve offered a babysitter a buck a mile to drive him away.
But Thomas could sense I was getting irritated with him.
Maybe the new welcome mat was a tip-off – I don’t know.
And so I came home from a rather stressful day to find that he finally left me something at least halfway useful.
A perfectly preserved chipmunk. How thoughtful.
I began scouring the house for the accessories that spoke to me with regards to this gift.
I first decided he was a reader – the stick still left in his paws when Thomas delivered him gave the appearance that he was also a smoker.
You kids call this tragedy? Let me tell you about tragedy.
Then it struck me that he was definitely a Pokemon. Perhaps a Chipachu.
Gotta catch ‘em all!
Then I went through a drawer of kid’s prize trinkets and found the destined items to gift to my new friend. It took a little work to get them into his tiny claws (the main part of which I did wear rubber gloves to do),
besides the fact that I then had to pour coffee into the miniscule mug,
But my careful work paid off. With Thomas’ help, I had created the munk, the myth, the legend.
Monday the Chipmunk.
Some days are just made for coffee and ice cream. Simultaneously.
He summed up my day and made my day. Simultaneously.
And, because I can already think of a dozen people I need to send Monday to, the note cards are already on order.
So, Thomas The Porch Cat gets a temporary reprieve.
Good night, Thomas. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely call an Uber for you in the morning.