I've been feeding this cat for the past week. Chelsea. Her family is out of town, at the beach. They took the dog. I can take care of a cat, no problem. Twice a day, food and water, clean the litter box, turn on the sprinklers every other morning. Sure. I've got it under control.
Well. Over the past couple of days, I brought my sister or friend to play with Chelsea while I complete the cat tasks. When I walk in by myself, she meows all weird, rubs against my legs, and doesn't like it when I move. She pounces my feet...and it freaks me out. Usually if she has someone else to focus on I can get in and out unscathed. This morning I brought my brother, Jack, as my handy helper. I turn on the sprinklers, unlock the back door, and say hello to Chelsea. I point Jack in the direction of the food closet and tell him to fill her bowl while I clean the litter box. He quickly walks to the door. Chelsea chases his feet. Not playfully, mind you. Chases. Jack stops. Chelsea hisses. Chelsea SCREAMS. I have never in my life heard a cat scream. I've heard late night cat fights, sure. But a yelling cat? Scared the bejeezus out of me. Chelsea gets low on her haunches (funny word) and screams and sprays and pounces. She scratches Jack's sandalled feet and screams some more. He is standing completely still, scared out of his mind. I'm yelling at Jack, though I didn't know his walking away would spur such a hellish cat reaction. She walks over towards me, glaring. I'm trying to talk her down. "Chelsea, it's okay. Come over here. He's not going to hurt you. Would you like some food? Would you?" Still glaring. She walks towards me and scratches my feet. I'm not happy anymore, not sympathetic, not anything other than "Get Jack and myself the hell out of here."
I turn to Jack and say, "Once she's distracted, I'm going to open the door. Run."
"NO," he replies.
"You've got no choice."
She walks toward her cat bed but spins around and jogs towards Jack. Jack is on the verge of tears. I don't blame him. My knees are shaking, and I don't scare easily. Something about this angry, screaming cat scares me like nothing else. I take any blame for Poor Judgment and Stupid Cat Conduct, but she'd seen us both before on numerous occasions. I didn't forsee any hostilty. Jack pointed out that he was scared because he couldn't defend himself. He can't kill the neighbor's cat. He can't kick her, or buy the pepper spray ring he found on eBay once we got home. Well he could...
Anyways. Chelsea turns around and I open the door wide. "Run, Jack!" He does. And so does she. Jack's outside but up against this kudzu planter. Chelsea jumps about a foot into the air and hisses. Jack opens his arms wide and yells, not caring one bit about what it will take to get away. He runs around the side yard. She chases him. I'm yelling, "Run, Jack!" mixed with "Chelsea! Come back!" She is not an outdoor cat. Her owner assured me that she is dumb and would die. I've got to get that cat back inside.
I later learn that Jack ran around and jumped the fence. Chelsea was stopped by the sprinkler and came trotting back. Once again, she stops and glares. If I move my feet, she scratches. I point inside and tell her to go back in. She doesn't take her eyes off of my feet. Jack and I are on the same side of the house now, separated by a latched gate. "Hand me some rocks," I tell him. I stick my hand through the fence's slit and Jack gives me a couple pebbles. I toss them one at a time into the garage, and Chelsea follows. I grab the doorknob and slam the door. And realize that I left the key inside.
No way in...ANYTHING...am I going back in there. I take Jack and walk home.
I didn't used to hate cats. And I feel bad for Chelsea, in a way.
Mostly, though, I think she's insane. "She's possessed by the devil," insists Jack. I don't argue.
I called my neighbor and let her know the goings on. She said I don't have to go back. Chelsea has a full food and water bowl and a semi-clean litter box. She'll be okay overnight.
But I have to go back. I left the key.
