A real cat fight, and what sounded to be a fight-to-the-death, erupted this morning at about 6 a.m. We knew it could only be our Griz, probably battling it out with his current sworn enemy – a smaller-than-him feral black-and-white cat that we think the neighbours have been encouraging with food. While ours has always been a multi-cat household, we know that having more than one male in the herd and under the same roof is courting disaster, even though they’ve been neutered, which all out cats are. And with Griz, the goofy cat-with-an-overbite we adopted about three-and-a-half years ago, this policy has proven itself to be a wise one. He was thus named for good reason – because he fights like a grizzly bear! Plus he believes he owns the entire hill and all the houses on it, so does not take kindly to any other male cat straying into his perceived territory.
So, this morning began with the usual telltale yodeling on the road below our house. We called to Griz, but that fell on deaf ears. Like all men, he only hears what he wants to hear. Dennis walked down our driveway to see if he could sort this out, but made the BIG mistake of trying to grab Griz by the scruff of the neck to pull him away from any physical confrontation. I couldn’t see what was going on, but heard many expletives shouted. Then Dennis came storming back up the driveway and front stairs, cradling one arm. He now looks like this:
And I must do all the dishes and laundry for a while… Grrr!!!
Griz and his foe continued their battle, which we could follow by sound, down the hill, around the neighbour’s house, until crescendo-ing in one major final attempt to kill each other. We feared we’d never see Mr. Griz again. That’s what it sounded like, anyway. In the meantime, we got Dennis tended to and bandaged up. Then, only ten minutes later, Griz waltzed on to the verandah, wet and muddy, his fur a bit smooshed up, but walking steady without a limp or any sign of injury. Which means that he won, otherwise, he wouldn’t have come back right away, being too injured and/or embarrassed to show his face around his family. I gave him a good scolding, and Dennis waved his injured arm in front of Griz’s face – Griz really didn’t seem to care much about that. All he was interested in was food, so I gave him a wipe-down (and checked for cuts) while he ate his crunchies, then he ambled off to bed, and is still there, sleeping belly-up and comfortable. And has he learned a lesson from this? No!
The little turkey!
Dennis, however, has. Next time this happens, he knows to enter the battle armored and equipped – with oven mitts, what I’ve always referred to as The Cat-Handling Gloves, and a bucket of water.
Meanwhile, Emme slept through the entire morning…