When I was out running today, I saw a gorgeous bluepoint Burmese cat lounging in a driveway. Untethered. The cat's owner was working in the yard, so I, always eager for an excuse to stop exercising, stopped to talk about the cat. This is not something cat owners often get to do - talk about their cats. Or at least not in the cat's outdoor presence. Cats are uncooperative, contrary animals and are seldom found near their owners (or "staff," as SH and I are known in our house) when they are both outside.
But this cat was sitting, although he refused to come near me. I am not the Cat Whisperer. SH is capable of seducing just about any cat out there, although he is not so good at listening to instructions like, "Don't pick up my cat. I mean it. It freaks her out." He has always had good luck with cats so what he hears is, "Everyone else is forbidden to pick up my cat but you may do it." Then what happens after he picks up this random (Lilah, The Bodacious Red-headed Pediatrician's cat) cat, the cat does indeed freak out because the BRHP knows her cat better than SH does. But SH, being a liberal, is full of good intentions and in his world, that's what counts. Fortunately, he also a major hottie and I am crazy about him. Enough to overlook the politics.
Laverne is a killer even when she is on a leash. Good cat.
So I stopped to talk to the owner of the cat and asked if he - the owner - was not worried about pit bulls eating the cat. He told me the cat is ten years old and has been an outdoor cat since they got him. He also noted that the cat has never been eaten by pit bulls and are there even any pit bulls in our neighborhood?
I don't know. When I am talking to my backyard neighbor Bill, who also lets his cat out on a leash attached to the clothesline, Bill says that the only dog he knows about is the arthritic, white-snouted dog that lives two doors down from us. He does note that there used to be a hawk that lived around here and a hawk could get a cat.
We both fall silent as we contemplate the image of a hawk getting our cats. "She'd be on a leash," I say.
"Oh sure," Bill answers. "The hawk would have to drop her after about 20 feet."
Well. That's OK then.