So there I was in the wee hours this morning, catching up on some reading when I heard a ruckus outside on the front deck... growling, crashing around, lots of not good sounding noises. I looked out the window in time to see a raccoon having his butt thoroughly thrashed by my grandaughter's calico cat, Juliet.
Now, mind you, Juliet is an older cat. We adopted her when she was already an adult, and that was ten plus years ago. This cat hates to get her toes wet walking across the lawn.. but there was Miss Dainty-Toes, putting some whoop-ass on a raccoon that outweighed her by at least a dozen pounds.
Now, mind you, Juliet is an older cat. We adopted her when she was already an adult, and that was ten plus years ago. This cat hates to get her toes wet walking across the lawn.. but there was Miss Dainty-Toes, putting some whoop-ass on a raccoon that outweighed her by at least a dozen pounds.
The 'coons come in at night to help themselves to the outside cat food. Oh, but you might ask... where were the watch dogs? Sleeping, as usual....
So while I'm watching this, thinking I'm going to have to intervene to keep this silly old cat from getting killed, with a lot of nasty cat language Juliet knocks the raccoon off the railing. (I think the growling translated to something like: "Not my bowl, Beotch!") She's now placed herself between the 'coon and her food bowl. My last view of the raccoon is him hanging on the railing by his front paws as she reaches down and smacks him again, knocking him loose. The raccoon hits the ground and runs off into the darkness.
I love that old cat!
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