The Beast

I swear Chris must smell like catnip. He's like the pied piper. He befriends a neighborhood cat and within days it's having slumber parties at our house.

Chris met a kitty and dubbed her Nibbler after her tendency to gnaw on fingertips. I met Nibbler a couple of days later, toting a brand new flea collar. This said to me that she had another home. But if that's the case, she doesn't seem to care. She's cheating on her other family, and I can only assume it has something to do with the fact that my husband is kitty crack.

I would throw her out, but I don't throw out any of the other cats that stop in. It doesn't seem fair. Besides, there's that animal rights activist that lives in my head and tells me that if Nibbler wants to move, it's her prerogative. I have no objection to her habitation per se.

I think she wants to stay. She told me, in the way which is customary in her tribe, that she wishes us to be her shelterers and that she will, in turn, provide for our needs as she is able. She slaughtered a small finch and brought it to the front door as a symbolic gesture that she can contribute to the household. I told her I appreciated the thought, but the bird is not allowed into the house. She was very upset and, I think, somewhat offended by this rejection of her offering. She must've offered it to Jaimie in her disgust and been similarly rebuffed, because the poor bird was shredded, defeathered, and strewn out over the entirity of Jaimie's porch when I came back out to check on her.

Nibbler has since forgiven me. I guess she got hungry. But she still refuses to clean up her mess.