Feline Fracas Scares the Wits Out of Me

Our pets are like rays of sunshine in our lives.


They ask so little and give much, especially love.

Our pet of 16 years, born in Arizona, is Honey Cat. She got that name because her fur has always been the color of golden honey.

Plus, she was sweet from the time she was a small ball of fur in the palms of our hands.

This past weekend she had a close call.

Because she’s old now, (more than 100 in people years), she’s not as agile as in the past. She rarely goes outside in the winter because she hates the cold.

Thinking she was safe upstairs, I heard the sounds of fighting cats coming from the backyard.

“Thank goodness Honey Cat is upstairs,” I said to my husband. I was wrong. She was one of the cats outside in the backyard fighting arena. The two felines were creating quite a neighborhood commotion.

Always the fighter and empress of her territory, our sweet grandmother cat got herself into a real pickle this time.

A cat almost twice her size looked like he was about to attack.

I screamed bloody murder because that’s what I thought it was going to be.

My husband, the brave soul, ran outside toward the two ferocious sounding felines. The big tiger didn’t budge and our cat kept backing up, her face contorted in a fierce grimace.

Picking up a brass planter, I hurled it across our backyard and against the fence. The crash was just the diversion needed to break-up the fight.

Honey Cat flew like a bullet across the lawn, up the back steps, and through the open door, into the house.

Saved by the brass planter!

The whole scenario scared the wits out of me. My heart beat about 100 mph.

Today when she stood near the kitchen door, wanting to go out, I had three words for Honey Cat.

“Use your litter box."

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