Kitties in Tutus
We know what he’s dreaming about—it’s the same whisker-twitching scenario we’ve seen a dozen times. The visions begin shortly after we’ve had one neutered, and not because we’ve robbed Junior of the most fun he’ll never have, but because we just sunk sixty dollars into another stray.
I don’t know where they find the posters—perhaps in the neighbor’s barn. They think we’ll never stumble upon them, all dog-eared, rolled-up and tucked out of sight under the back steps where they sleep at night. Pictures of tabbies in tutus, their lips painted bright red under the big top. Pussies perched upon unicycles, making it look so easy. And oh my! those calicos doing the can-can.
It’s only a matter of time, once the adventure of circus life has gripped his imagination. Really, who can blame him? The allure of amazed audiences, throwing kibbles in adoration. Mousies overhead on trapeze. Swooning house cats, smelling of old lady perfume and canned tuna.
We wake to the sound of coyotes in the cornfields. Have they lured him off? their call, like the whistle of a distant circus train …All aboard…
Sadly, our kitties never send postcards.