River Tries to Finally Broker a Peace Deal with the Cat Under the House

Sometimes, it takes a Griffon to stop endless wars.   Since I arrived at our house six years ago, I have undertaken a ceaseless battle with the feral cat who lives under the porch. There was the battle of the air conditioner duct,  the litter of kitties skirmish, the building of the indestructible wall, the destruction of the indestructible wall, and the great slat struggle. While Pocket and I suffered defeat at each of these junctions, we still claimed victory because we have access to a computer. Those with a keyboard write history.

  We were gleefully expecting a pussy free winter.   I personally inspected the outside of the house. The brick wall around the HVAC unit was impenetrable.  The slats were tight except in one area, by the Silcock where Private Daddy had separated them to reach under the house and turn off the water.  He could not get the pieces, one an original 30-year-old slat which was partially under the steps and suffering the ill-effects of many winters exposed to the elements, and a newer model to connect.  There was barely enough room to slip a piece of paper between them. I was not concerned about penetration. (I used pussy, cock, and penetration in the same sentence without making a dirty: That is excellent writing.)

One morning this week, we walked down the front steps, and I noticed that the small space between the slats was open several inches.  I stopped and put my nose in the gap. I took a deep breath and smelled an unmistakable scent. Kitty was back in town. We were facing a winter of discontent.  

I decided to be the bigger small animal and put a stop to the madness. One night I slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen heat grate, which was above the porch where the kitty slept.  “You up?” I asked. 

“Of course, I am up. I am a nocturnal animal. I sleep during the day.  At least I try. The upstairs neighbors are too noisy. Whenever a car goes down the street, they go berserk. Some days I don't get a minute’s sleep.”

This was a gross exaggeration.  We only bark at the cars we see.  Sometimes we go a whole minute without barking.  The peace negotiations were not starting well.

“I want to call a truce,” I said.  “We have decided to let you sleep under the house, at least for the winter.”

“Why would I make a deal with you? I come and go as I please, and there is nothing you can do about it," the cat hissed.

Honestly, feral cats are the worst.  Also, he had a point. He was going to do what he wanted regardless of what I said.   “So, we can’t make a deal?" I asked dejectedly.

“As far as I can tell, you have nothing to offer.”

I was about to go back to bed, defeated when  I got an inspired idea. "Duct tape!" I barked.

“Duct tape?” the kitty asked.

“Yes, I could tell ask my sister Angel Foley to go into Private Daddy’s dreams and say to him to duct tape the space between the slats to keep you out.  And, when it snows, he will leave a pile in front of your gap. I could make it very difficult for you.
I don’t know why the kitty chuckled when she agreed.  Cats are inscrutable.  

When I went to sleep, I visited Foley in my dreams and told her about my "no cat attacks for Mom while allowing the kitty to sleep under the porch" peace deal. She called me a putz and gave me a nightmare where I was in a cage; a foot was a bag of fried chicken just out of reach.

I checked my online Yiddish to English dictionary and was heartened to find out that putz meant penis, short for a peacemaker. 

I knew she was saying I did well because “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called the children of God.”


Now I just have to wait for word from the good people at Noble.  I brought peace between cats and dogs. I am a shoo-in.