Fraidy Cat.

My roommate’s cat has no juevos (or insert other juvenile euphemism for male genitalia here), which, under normal circumstances, is a good thing, as she is a female. A young lady. A sweet, eccentric cat — and I am not a feline lover — although she is a bit on the husky side.

Back to the lack of juevos... I am cat-sitting this week, which generally consists of providing her with some food in the morning, emptying her poo box in the evening, and sometime between the two events, letting her lay and do that creepy, rub against your hand thing. If she’s really good, I’ll leave my bedroom door open to allow her to sneak in and hunt my feet while I sleep.

Last night, there was no feet hunting.

A stray cat has taken to the ‘hood. It’s lean and scrappy and has at least two tear drops tattooed below its left eye, presumably, one each for every other feline it’s destroyed. Grey and black, it’s striped like a tiger and moves sleekly, not unlike a shark. I have seen large children flee from it.

My roommate’s cat, Cleo, is orange and white, covered in a layer of fluff, which rests upon an impressive amount of body fat, and has left the house three times over the last month or so. She is not what you would call an “outdoor” cat.

Last night, while Cleo and I lay on the couch, enjoying an edited version of Sex and the City on poor-man’s cable (TBS), a very strange thing happened. Our couch sits in front of a large picture window, literally Cleo’s window to the world and she spends a large portion of the day staring out of it, perhaps wishing that she were more agile. Suddenly, she began making the I’m-in-a-cat-fight-and-about-to-tear-some-shit-up sound. You know the sound, because like the noise of a dentist’s drill, even if you’ve only heard it once, you remember it always. It is strange and shrill and ugly in every way.

So, I am trying to figure out what the hell is going on. I am pretty sure that there are no other cats in the house and start talking to Cleo, attempting to calm her down. Suddenly, TigerSharkStrayCat jumps up to the outside of the picture window (there’s a brick ledge on the outside) with a shank in paw and proceeds to attempt to take Cleo’s life. Cleo acts tough, holding her ground and raising the volume on her war call, but it is clear that even with a window separating them, Cleo has had her ass handed to her. This event goes on entirely too long until I am smart enough to draw the blinds and push Cleo aside.

Visibly shaken, I let her chill out on the floor, where she refuses to put her back to the window. I return my attention to my tiny television. About ten minutes later, I realize something stinks in the room. I also notice that my pants are damp.

It turns out that Cleo was so frightened, she actually wet her pants. Except of course, she wasn’t wearing any pants. She did however, wet mine via the couch cushion.

Needless to say, Cleo has lost all street cred in my book.