My IPad video showed a cat named Kevin boldly chasing a coyote away from its Portland, Oregon home. Sure enough, I saw the cat was a Russian Blue.
Folks that strain of felines is dangerous. And I have evidence, a fourth, feeble right-hand finger to substantiate my fear. Keyboarding you this missive with two fingers because I no longer can touch-type.
Tried to pat our kitty Sasha, and he bit that feeble finger. Two days later I was back home from the hospital, finger bandaged, taking pills for blood-poisoning.
When her children gave the kitten to their mother, Margaret named him ‘Sasha’—a popular Russian name we discovered during previous four months in Russia serving the U.S. Information Agency.
Sasha scared Brandy—the smart Poodle—who gave Sasha a wide berth after he heard the first hiss. Also Sasha lost favor with visiting Daughter Mickey after Sasha attacked her ankles. And back in Texas, granddaughter Lindsey brought a Russian Blue into her Mother’s home that terrorized Izzy, the Labradoodle watchdog.
While domiciled on the shores of Discovery Bay, near Olympic Mountains in Washington state, we were blessed because an expert computer doctor named Kurt lived only a half-block away from our house. Kurt made house calls when our machine needed burping.
I called Kurt for help. “Sure, Dick, I’ll come around the corner and fix your computer—but you’ve got to promise me you will lock up your attack cat.”
Image by husnerova from Pixabay
