Those of you who have read for a while may have heard me complain about the cats next door, where two sweet little old ladies feed and shelter about 10-11 feral cats. Under the don’t shit where you eat principle, my yard (and all of our neighbor’s yards) have become the ideal, ahem, dumping grounds for these cats. And, lately, it has become worse — there’s nothing like the smell of baking cat poop on a 92 degree day, let me tell you. Now, I like animals as much as the next gal, but these cats make me crazy. I have been known to run down two flights of stairs screaming at the top of my lungs at breakneck speeds while in the middle of a dinner party just to chase these beasts out of my yard.
But, clearly, my problem is a small one compared to this one:
FYI: Our feral cats have all been trapped, neutered, and under the policy of the shelter in our county, “returned to their natural environment.” (AKA my back yard), so there is not going to be a cat explosion of this magnitude.