Guard Kitty

Nimoo is an indoors kitty. Period. Don’t even try to convince me otherwise.

She’s had her front claws de-tendonized so they’re useless for defense. Yes, I know very well that she could probably still defend herself nicely – of course I know this. You should see the scars on my arms. She’s quite handy with those back claws and her teeth. She’s never been an outdoors kitty and doesn’t know the ropes. Outdoor kitties in Vancouver have an estimated average life span of three years. They’re far more susceptible to nasty illnesses and injury than indoors kitties. When I’ve taken her outside she becomes this feral, nasty, miserable little ball of snarls.

But still, she clearly longs to be outside. She’ll lean against the screens. She clearly rejoices when the screens go in and she can smell outside. She’ll try to sneak out the door given any opportunity. Also she’s very clearly not very happy right now. She did manage to not pee anywhere but her litterbox (that I’ve found at least) today, but that doesn’t erase three straight days of ‘commentary’.

So I took her outside this evening. I’d been in and out getting the garbage and recycling out, and figured I’d sit on the veranda and cool off. But there was Moo, purring at the door. So I grabbed her and carried her around the front yard.

I showed her the sprinkler in the neighbour’s yard. She got her paws on the big maple tree, got to bat at the fronds of the hedge, leaves on the small maple, stand briefly in grass. Then we sat on the veranda and listened to the city sounds … and a cat fight nearby. Two minutes later Moo hissed, as a black kitty slunk past. Another couple of minutes, and the other scrapper turned up, Izzy, a kitty that hangs around a lot. Moo positively freaked. Izzy had dared to come up the stairs! Snarls and hisses and yooowwwwwrrrrrrrs sent Izzy scampering.

This did trigger a bit of the old Moo, the Moo who left those scars on my arms. She never used to have an off switch for aggression – it was sweet lapkitty, or savage tear-your-aorta-out kitty, and once the latter made her appearance it was hard to get back to lapkitty. So the snarling furball yowled her way back inside while trying to rip through my wrist.

She’s now leaning against the livingroom window screen, on full alert. There’s a little new attitude there. I think she’s proud – she defended her turf.


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