I told my wife I couldn’t think of anything to write about this week.
Being the helpful type, she started throwing out ideas. One of the first things she suggested was I could write about our barn cats and how they’re so different, how one is nice and the other one is ... not so much.
My first question to her was: “Which one is the nice one?”
It was an honest question. I think they’re both jerks. But they keep a steady line of “gifts” for us around the side porch area, so they’re all right by me.
My daughter named both cats as soon as we got them. One is Daisy, the other is Tulip. I can never remember which is which so I refer to them as “the white one” and “the black one.” Tomato-tahmahto, I suppose.
About a week ago, I was asleep in the recliner, still recovering from my hernia surgery. Around 3 a.m., I heard a cat fight commencing on the side porch.
It escalated quickly, like a mask/no mask post on social media. One second was complete silence and the next thing I knew, it was sheer pandemonium. A real “slobberknocker,” if you will.
I awoke from my slumber and ran to the rescue as quickly as my still healing bionic bellybutton would allow.
If there was a snake outside, the cats would be on their own. In fact, they may have found themselves helping me out, as I’d probably end up in some sort of cardiac distress. But I liked the odds of the offending animal having fur, so I was ready to assist my feline friends.
I turned on the side porch light as I went outside, ready to battle with the white one or the black one, whichever was under attack.
As I opened the door, I saw a black flash dart to the left, and never saw anything else. I can only assume the invading animal exited, stage right.
I wish my cat had known that the porch light turning on meant her backup had arrived, but she didn’t stick around to find out. She was gone for the night.
I stood on the porch for a few minutes trying to call her back in so she would know she was safe up there. I scanned the woods with a flashlight but never caught a glimpse of any intruders.
Thankfully, she was back on the porch by the time we woke up.
She still was none too friendly towards me, but I like to think she knows if stuff starts going bad in the middle of the night, I’m the one who’s coming to her aid.
As long as her nemesis has legs and some fur, that is.
Toby Nix is a local writer, guitarist and investigator with the Coweta County Sheriff’s Office. He is the author of two books, “Columns I Wrote” and “A Book I Wrote.” He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org