It all began with a stare. Not a friendly one, mind you, but the kind that makes the hair at the back of your neck stand in sheer fright. A sleek black cat, perched like a furry gargoyle on my neighbour’s boundary wall, locked eyes with me.
And just like that, the battle lines were drawn.
“Don’t you dare cross my path,” I hissed, stepping back into my potted geraniums. The cat did not blink. It just licked its paw with slow menace, as if to say, “challenge accepted!”
Now, I know what you are thinking, dear reader. You are wondering if I am being a bit dramatic. Well, no! I am being just the right amount of dramatic because of late, my entire compound has turned into a sort of feline universe, you see. With me as the sole non-cat-loving dissenter. And I am sure they are plotting something. The cats, not the neighbours. Although at this point, I would not rule that out either.
However, it started innocently enough. A couple of lazy tabbies lounging on the hoods of parked cars, a ginger tomcat sunbathing in the middle of the road and a harmless, if slightly rotund Persian perched on the green lawn, like it owned the verdant turf.
Then came the calico gang. Five of them. With matching attitude. I tried to shoo them away with a rolled-up newspaper, only to find myself outnumbered, outstared, and psychologically eviscerated.
I also tried to talk to a fellow resident about it. “Oh, you mean Peaches?” she asked, referring to the black cat who had just attempted to trip me down the stairs. “She’s adorable!”
Adorable? This thing was a sleek, shadowy beast with glowing green eyes and an unfortunate penchant for stalking me! And I swear it has teleportation skills as well because before I can step out of my front door, I find that it is already sitting on my boundary wall, licking its paw and judging my life choices.
My attempts at defence have been futile. I tried garlic (turns out that is for vampires), I tried spraying citrus (only succeeded in making my front path smell like floor cleaner) and I even bought one of those ultrasonic cat repellents. Alas, it attracted three more!
So, the result is that I have become so paranoid that every time I hear a soft thud, I flinch. My friends say I’m being irrational, and my therapist suggested I confront my fear. I briefly considered dressing up as a giant dog to assert dominance, but the logistics were too complicated.
Meanwhile, somehow, the cats thrive. They parade through my backyard like they own it, which, if you ask them, they probably do. They are even gaining weight, possibly from feasting on all the leftover pizza.
In all this, I have begun to realize that resistance is futile, and the cats have won because they have marked their territory, and I am reduced to becoming a trembling human who lives in their empire.
So, if you see me walking around the compound carrying a broomstick and muttering to myself, don’t be alarmed. I’m not losing my mind but just surviving in the Cat-astrophic Republic of Os Gatos Pretos.
“I have a solution,” my spouse suggested this morning.
“Do not tell me to get a dog,” I said.
“Let’s get a dog,” he said.
There was a pregnant pause.
“How did you guess?” he asked.
“Feline instinct,” I mumbled.
