Bitch Kitty Racing

I woke up this morning to the surprise of a new brunette head on my pillow, hair the exact color of Spanish chocolate. She was sleeping peacefully, snoring just a tiny bit. I was surprised because I have no idea where she came from. The last thing I remember was going to bed by myself. Have I started picking up strange girls in my sleep? Sleep dating? I wasn’t even drunk last night.

I poked her gently and she opened up one big green eye, smiled, mewed softly, and rolled over on her back like she wanted a belly scratch. I looked down at the end of the bed where my own overstuffed housecat sat watching me with his own big green eyes. “Pervert,” he seemed to be saying. “Now I see why you had my balls cut off. Less competition, eh?” I was flabbergasted. He was allowing another cat to sleep on my pillow. He’s very good with other animals, but this was a complete stranger. I couldn’t understand it. Did I somehow do something unnatural last night? Had I been in the catnip and wound up in a bi-species ménage a trios?

I live on the second-and-a-half story of a brick apartment building. The only way this cat could have gotten in was through the front door. She had to have come in with me last night. She was dark enough that maybe she could have slipped through my feet on the way into the unlit foyer unseen, but nothing explains the Pasha, my cat, not flipping out. She was pretty cute, though . . .

“You gotta go,” I said to my interloper. I picked up her tiny little body. She was only about three pounds, merely a snack for my twenty-pound monster. She totally relaxed and started purring. No tags, no ID, no collar. Great. I walked her downstairs and out into the garden behind my building, set her down gently and watched her scamper off without so much as a wave goodbye. I hope I don’t get fleas or anything. Sleeping with strangers and all, you know. You’ve got to be careful these days.