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Double double, toil and trouble
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Fire burn and cauldron bubble ... that’s how I feel when I see the neighborhood cats come creeping around. I’m sorry, but I am not a cat fancier. Never have been, never will be. Give me a dog, a hound, a mutt, a goober any day of the week. Love ‘em all, big and small. Don’t like the ones that bare their teeth at me, but most of them I can live with.

Hubs came in from his nightly communing with nature, where he likes to sit and enjoy the weather and watch the birds and the squirrels (eatin’ outta my danged colander). Sometimes the wild cats that have adopted our neighborhood like to join him. When he made his way back into the house, he said, “The cats said to tell you that you’re mean.”

I nodded as I dried the dishes and said, “Yep. I am. I’m glad they’re getting the message.”

He leaned against the doorframe.

“Mmmhmm, said you’re a witch.”

Again, I nodded.

“Well, I’m sure they’re sayin’ a little more than that, but I’ll take witch. Hopefully getting hosed down will be a lesson to them.”

“Oh, they said they’re learning all right. Everytime you hose one down, they’ll find yet another of your lovely flowers to squat on.”

I threw down the dishtowel, tossed the pot back into the drainer and headed for the front door.

“I know one of them is making a lovely little toilet bowl out of my salvia right now!” I said, feeling a bit like Yosemite Sam.

Hubs started laughing.

“No, they’re not. They’re gone for the night!”

“I guarantee you, as soon as I open this door, Scarlett and her madames will fleet it across the street!”

I pulled the door open and the orange striped hussy stretched lazily across the porch.

I stepped out and smacked my hands together.

“Get out of here, you little so and so! And take those noisy harlots with you!”

She looked up at me like I was a fly stuck on flypaper. Then she stretched her neck and yawned.

I stepped over her to the faucet outside.

“Go on ahead, little missy. I’ll give you something to yawn about!”

As soon as she heard that squeak of the knob turning, it was a different story.

I stared her down as I reached up into the bush where I hide the spray gun attachment.

“Bang! Bang!” I shouted at her.

Hubs stood there, shaking his head at me.

“You’re mean, mama, just mean!”

“These ol’ flea-bitten jezebels are driving me nuts! Next one I trip over is gonna regret it!”

There are a couple that know when to high-tail it outta my sight, but they’re getting much too familiar with my yard, and my garden.

I aimed at that insouciant little saucepot and blasted off a dose of city water.

She smartly leaped up and headed off toward the neighbor’s house.

“That’s right! Get on down the road! You practice your siren’s song at someone else’s house tonight!”

Hubs shook his head again.

“Well, I think you’re just crazy. Gettin’ all worked up over a couple of cats....”

“Hmm!” I snuffed at him, “I’ll work a deal. First one I see pulling weeds outta my garden gets a can of solid white albacore.”

He laughed and said, “You know that ain’t happenin.”

I smiled smartly and said, “That’s right. I do know. But feel free to make the announcement tomorrow night when they wander back there for the late show. Tell ’em they can either pull weeds or knit mittens for those danged kittens.”

In case they aren’t gettin’ the message, I’ll post a sign in the yard, “FREE CATS!”

They’re not foolin’ me, those little feline furballs.

I know they can read....