I came home from work the other night and Hubby was all fired up. He is telling me that the feral cats are back under the house. And there was a fight.
Mischa, our Kitty was running about slightly freaked, "hiding" from the cats she heard. And if you have ever not heard a cat fight, just take my word, cats scream & make the scariest sounds.
Our Dogs, Riley, Bandit & even little Dakota, were completely going crazy trying to locate these cats. Riley, the Coon~hound, was focused on the bathroom heat register.
Hubby said it was all so loud. The cats below, started to fight, and he could hear the insulation ripping from the crawl ceiling. and all Hell breaking loose, He said Roscoe was holding his own.
uhm, Wait a minute...
Mischa... Riley... Bandit...Dakota... those are our pets.
But "Who is Roscoe?"
Hubby, informs me Roscoe is the HUGE black cat that was among the cats.
Wait a minute...
Me:"Honey? Are you telling me you NAMED a feral cat? How long have you known, "Roscoe".
Hubby: I don't know, he's been hanging around. He's a big strong cat. Reminds me of Rocky in his prime {Rocky is our 19 yr old cat that passed in December}.
hmmm.
Did my Hubby really just name a stray?
You have to understand, he was raised not like me. He didn't grow up with pets. He loves our pets but I'm the animal person. I'm the rescuer.
Now, since I have been home I haven't seen "Roscoe", or any of the feral cats for that matter. There is evidence that they have returned. They have bent and destroyed the air vents that take them into the crawl.
But I haven't heard a peep...or should I say...
Meow?
Bucket List
9 hours ago