Killer Kittens
William sat huddled in his recliner, the terrified tabby trembling in his lap.
"What are you doing?" he called across to the kitchen, watching me examine the fire extinguisher.
"I'm not going down without a fight," I replied, as I reviewed the Pull-Aim-Squeeze-Spray instructions. We've never been the type to own guns, but I was sure a good blast of potassium bicarbonate would slow down any or all of the beasts outside. No one's ever going to confuse Kidde with Kitten Chow.
I'm not sure if William heard my reply, because just then the lights went out. I wasn't worried about that; we had candles burning all over the house. I could see well enough to catch Bandit, the little cream-colored one who looked just like his mama, hurl himself at the dining room window again. Our cat jumped nervously, his ears laid back, obviously calculating how long it would take to run and hide under a bed.
"Damn!" William exclaimed. "Was that Mercedes?"
"Nope, it was Bandit. He's almost as big as his mother now."
"Buzz Lightyear is bigger," he replied. As if the little black and white kitten had heard his name mentioned, I caught sight of him atop the window air conditioner, his formerly cute face now contorted with rage. Buzz hissed at me and raised a paw - I would swear he was giving me a furry middle finger.
From the front door came the familiar sound of claws scrabbling on the wood, as our "Welcome Spring" banner bounced and clattered from the vibration. It was obviously Mama Mercedes. Her normally quiet alto meow was louder than we'd ever heard it, even with the rising winds outside. Then I jumped in alarm. The same sound was coming from the back door, just behind me. Who was that? It had to be Sneakers, determined to cover our possible escape route.
"What about the sliding glass doors?" asked William. "We could open that, run and get in the car." I liked that idea and started down the hall to the office, which was closest to the driveway door. But just as I reached for the burglar bar, I screamed when Catzilla threw herself full-force into the doors. William came running in time to see the pink-collared furball back off and hiss at me, much like Buzz had.
"What the --" exclaimed William. "I never did like that cat."
"She used to be so shy," I said. "Why is she bothering with us? She has a home, right next door. Her owner feeds her; I see her pounding on his door every morning and he always lets her in."
"You know how these cats are," my husband said. "They travel in gangs! Mercedes probably told her about all the cat food she'll get if she can break in."
"Well, too bad for all of them," I replied. "All we've got is one duo-pak of Sheba and half a pouch of Temptations Rockin' Lobster."
"I knew you shouldn't have given our cat the last can of Fancy Feast," he said. "It would slow 'em down having to break into a metal can. The Sheba and Temptations, they can just rip open with their teeth and claws."
I shuddered, then felt a fresh wave of righteous anger. "How could you forget to buy Meow Mix the last time we went to Walmart?"
"I was sure we had enough to last a few more days," William protested. "Who knew three teeny, tiny kittens could eat so much?"
"Are you kidding me?" I shouted. "Those cats are like furry piranhas. I pour food in their bowl on the porch and practically have to jump out of the way. If I'm not fast enough, I could lose a finger."
"You're right," he said, unconsciously rubbing his leg where Mercedes had attacked him the time he stood between her and the bowl last week.
Then we staggered as the house shook. The sky went dark. The candles flickered but kept burning. An eerie sound arose.
"Quick!" my husband cried. "It's a tornado! Get in the bedroom closet!" In our double-wide mobile home, the closet was the only completely enclosed space, surrounded by the kitchen cabinets, the master bathroom and the furnace. We grabbed Gizmo and ran, as hail began to pummel the metal roof. It was a tight squeeze until William grabbed a couple of suitcases and threw them out into the bedroom before slamming the door. Then he bellowed in pain as Gizmo sank his claws into his shoulder, completely unnerved by the racket. We clung to each other, praying the roof wouldn't be ripped off.
"I hope they're okay," I murmured.
"Who?"
"The kitties. I'd hate to think the $220 I spent to get them all neutered and vaccinated has gone to waste!"
William had nothing to say as the house tilted to and fro and the scream of the wind increased.
Just as I thought I'd start crying from sheer nerves, everything stopped. The silence that descended was almost as frightening as the storm. We looked at each other, obviously both thinking the same thing. We'd been spared, but what about all the other 250 mobile homes in our community? Most of our neighbors were old and disabled. Even if they weren't injured, how would they get out of their homes if the added-on wheelchair ramps were destroyed?
A moment later, we opened the closet door and crept out cautiously, astonished at how normal the house looked. The candles were still quietly burning away; the furniture was as we'd left it, and no windows were broken. Even Gizmo was back to normal: He stood in the center of the living room and threw up a hairball.
We just had to see. Opening the front porch door, I called out. "Mercedes! Buzz! Bandit! Sneakers!" I was met with silence. I wondered where Catzilla (t/n Jumper), the neighbor's cat was. Normally she was shy and skittish. I hoped she'd been able to run to her normal spot under her owner's house.
William joined me outside. The porch was intact; the giant pines were upright and undamaged, other than a few limbs scattered across the yard and the street. But the sky just to our north was still ominously angry and leaden, even with timid sunlight already peeking through behind us.
"Okay, get your shoes on," said William. "Let's run to the store and buy some cat food before they come back."
But before I could reply, the remaining breeze sent something blowing in our direction. It looked small and light, and sure enough, it was a fragment of paper. I snatched it and took a look. It was yellow, with the familiar photo of a happy cat, asking for it by name. It had clearly been torn from a bag of Meow Mix cat food.
Slowly, I turned the paper over.
You're welcome, it said.
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Note: Ferociously hungry kittens make for a funny/scary story, but too many animals and people are going without food due to this pandemic. On top of that, it's tornado season. Please donate, if you can, to one of the many charities trying to help. Here are just a few:
https://www.globalgiving.org/projects/coronavirus-relief-fund/
https://www.cityharvest.org/
https://www.directrelief.org/emergency/coronavirus-outbreak/?mod=article_inline
https://familypromise.org/donate/
https://www.feedingamerica.org/
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