Aside from the Siamese, we have another cat who lives in the garage. His name is Gohan, he is gray-and-white, and he has this tough, slightly dirty, kanto boy look typical of stray cats. He is forbidden to enter the house because he offends the tender sensibilities of Chloe the Siamese cat. He is sweet, though, and when someone steps on his tail he would just howl in indignation, unlike the Siamese who will bite, eyes flashing.
Well, life was peaceful until Gohan acquired a girlfriend. It was another tough, slightly dirty feline with a squinty eye who always looked pregnant. Now this girlfriend had taken to spending nights with Gohan in the garage, sharing his dinner of leftovers. And she has been with Gohan so often that my daughter has given her a name, Girlfriend. Gohan and Girlfriend would cuddle on top of the washing machine, or crowd inside the dog house with Andrew the Whippet. (The whippet is another strange dog; he actually sleeps with the cats.)
Girlfriend looks positively ugly to me. I don't know about cats' standards of attractiveness, but she must be hot, because for some reason she got another suitor, a much uglier orange tabby with an evil temperament. We called him Kalaban. This Kalaban is so shameless that he would come at night and actually drive Gohan away from his own food bowl. Sometimes I'd have to watch over the cats as they ate dinner, with a broom in one hand, while Kalaban glares at me from outside the gate.
And then they'd start their courtship. You'd be peacefully dreaming at 2 am when the cats would start to howl in discordant harmony, each one trying to outdo the other in bass, soprano, and falsetto Meeeooowwww. Since they're in our garage, it has become our obligation to go down and disrupt the proceedings.
We'd often find Gohan crouched behind Andrew the dog, howling to his heart's content, while Kalaban does his macho posturing in the middle of the garage. Girlfriend would be watching from the sidelines, purring and grooming herself. Then my husband would try to hit Kalaban with whatever is handy: a plastic chair, a slipper, a dustpan. He always missed, and Kalaban would run away, grinning. As a result of these nocturnal skirmishes, we now have a plastic chair with a broken seat, a long knife with a broken point, a chipped baseball bat, a broken pot. All for the sake of Gohan's lovelife.
Thankfully, the courtship has ended. Gohan, battle-scarred over Girlfriend, is now healing his numerous scratches. He has a sore on his neck that my nanny declares will develop into skin cancer if untreated, so we've resorted to applying Solcoseryl whenever we catch him. Kalaban rarely shows his grinning face, but it still irritates the hell out of us when we see him on the streets.
Girlfriend is, of course, pregnant. She doesn't visit so often now. The nanny has threatened to evict both cats if she gives birth in the garage. My daughter and I are waiting to see if she'd appear one day with the kittens. She'd be welcome in the garage if she comes with little gray-and-white kittens, but not little orange tabby ones.
Well, life was peaceful until Gohan acquired a girlfriend. It was another tough, slightly dirty feline with a squinty eye who always looked pregnant. Now this girlfriend had taken to spending nights with Gohan in the garage, sharing his dinner of leftovers. And she has been with Gohan so often that my daughter has given her a name, Girlfriend. Gohan and Girlfriend would cuddle on top of the washing machine, or crowd inside the dog house with Andrew the Whippet. (The whippet is another strange dog; he actually sleeps with the cats.)
Girlfriend looks positively ugly to me. I don't know about cats' standards of attractiveness, but she must be hot, because for some reason she got another suitor, a much uglier orange tabby with an evil temperament. We called him Kalaban. This Kalaban is so shameless that he would come at night and actually drive Gohan away from his own food bowl. Sometimes I'd have to watch over the cats as they ate dinner, with a broom in one hand, while Kalaban glares at me from outside the gate.
And then they'd start their courtship. You'd be peacefully dreaming at 2 am when the cats would start to howl in discordant harmony, each one trying to outdo the other in bass, soprano, and falsetto Meeeooowwww. Since they're in our garage, it has become our obligation to go down and disrupt the proceedings.
We'd often find Gohan crouched behind Andrew the dog, howling to his heart's content, while Kalaban does his macho posturing in the middle of the garage. Girlfriend would be watching from the sidelines, purring and grooming herself. Then my husband would try to hit Kalaban with whatever is handy: a plastic chair, a slipper, a dustpan. He always missed, and Kalaban would run away, grinning. As a result of these nocturnal skirmishes, we now have a plastic chair with a broken seat, a long knife with a broken point, a chipped baseball bat, a broken pot. All for the sake of Gohan's lovelife.
Thankfully, the courtship has ended. Gohan, battle-scarred over Girlfriend, is now healing his numerous scratches. He has a sore on his neck that my nanny declares will develop into skin cancer if untreated, so we've resorted to applying Solcoseryl whenever we catch him. Kalaban rarely shows his grinning face, but it still irritates the hell out of us when we see him on the streets.
Girlfriend is, of course, pregnant. She doesn't visit so often now. The nanny has threatened to evict both cats if she gives birth in the garage. My daughter and I are waiting to see if she'd appear one day with the kittens. She'd be welcome in the garage if she comes with little gray-and-white kittens, but not little orange tabby ones.
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