A Moo’s Story

Damn… finding fresh meat this time of year is a pain in the ass. Like clockwork, the temps cool, the leaves turn and fall, and then -bam, slim pickings in the meat department. Most the summertime staples disappear and while there is a variation to the winter selections, it’s just not as robust, meaty and tasty. I’ll have to check out the best spot even though it’s in a bad neighborhood, filled with dirty, mean, and nasty shoppers.

I want to bring a present back home for my crew, so going to a dicey location is a risk I’ll have to take. Although the meat selection there is the best around this time of year, ugh, the patrons are a miserable shitty bunch.

There’s that lady of the night, she’s got jet black hair on the sides, with the parted down the middle white stripe. I mean hey, you there!, hit the salon a little more often or dye it at home. Really? You just about eat anything, plodding around through the samples, nibbling on whatever you find. Nothing is appealing about your indiscriminate foraging! I’m glad our shopping schedules don’t align and you mostly come out at night. And please, think about bathing more often. How she goes out in public smelling like that?

Lookee there, it’s that mother with her six or seven kids in tow. I haven’t really counted, but there is always a bunch of them hanging all over her. Latched on and begging for attention. She’s nice and clean and whatnot, but I couldn’t ever deal with that many kids. Her back must be killing her! I saw her one time just overwhelmed and paralyzed. She didn’t seem to be able to move because of all the stress. She wouldn’t snap out of it if someone poked her with a stick.

Ah, here’s another fun bunch, that beady eyed criminal looking group. They’ll rob a place blind with their nimble hands full of five finger discount coupons. Of course, now-a-days everyone’s wearing a mask, but they were doing it before it was fashion. They get into everything. The little ones are cute enough, but I’ve heard someone took a shot at the old man a couple times when he was breaking into an attic resulting in a memorable court case.

While that collection of misfits gets on my nerves, normally they don’t get in my way. The one that seems to go out of his way to piss me off is Mr. Gray. He’s absolutely huge, ornery and mean. I’ve heard we’re distantly related, but really, really distantly. He weighs five times what I do and thinks the whole world resolves him…. like this whole damn ditch is his and his alone.

And oh-boy, luck of the draw, looks who’s here tonight: Mr. Gray, and he looks menacing as ever. I’ll keep my distance and stalk the other side.

I don’t want no trouble so I’ll just make a quick selection from off to the side here, and head on home.

Ah yes, there’s a couple tasty little morsels hiding right over there. Not the pick of the litter I’d choose if I had more time but I’ll just grab and go. Hmm, delicious, I love the taste of fresh mole in the morning. Nom-nom-nom. I’ll eat this one here, and grab that plump one to-go as I trot back home.

Wham! The sucker claw comes in from behind and catches me in front of the right ear. Damn, ouch, what the fu…,I wheel around and see him………damn, Mr. Gray, and he looks pissed.

Whadda doing hunting my ditch you little cow looking bitch, he hisses?!?!?

Bite me! it ain’t your ditch, I snarl.

Boom, claw swipe to my face! I stagger back, trying to remember to remember his long reach next time.

Swoosh, his right claw whips past missing my clipped ear as I duck.

I keep him in front of me as I ease back about three chipmunk lengths up the road side of the ditch, hoping no texting idiot drives over me.

Mr. Gray launches poorly out of the muddy ditch so his pounce lands short. I quickly rake my right claw across his left eye.

Stunned by my right claw, but gaining his footing, he lunges again.

I move in quick and close planting my fang in his nasty fat, fleabag, mud covered neck.

The taste of ditch-mud, blood, and mole fills my mouth.

Gray’s left claw rakes down my cheek missing my throat but catches my shoulder tearing into my skin.

Ouch, fuck, that’s going to leave a mark. Damnit, I’m bleeding and it’s a bitch to lick stains out of my white fur areas. Why don’t they ever cut in the black?!?! Now I’m pissed, but grappling with him is certain death.

He charges, fangs bared, looking to make a Moo meat pie of me, I spring up and over cartwheeling in the moonlight, claws flailing, feeling for my mark.

Bingo! my f.u. middle claw finds his face, ripping through the lid catching momentarily on the back edge of his eye socket. I land on my wrist twisted in the road.

Blinded and bleeding into his left eye, I move to my right, staying on the puddled sandy berm of Chapin Street.

He growls: Where are you ya little cow looking bitch,?!? Come over around here where I can see you so we can finish this up close.

Yeah, no, that’s a hard pass for me you now half blind bastard. I’m going to limp back to my double enclosed heated villa and lick my wounds.

Enclosed? Heated?

You?!?

What the hell? You weren’t supposed to live through last winter after I exiled you from the horse-barn.

Yeah, well, sometimes it pays to be nice.

We’ll meet again Mooie! He growls.

This ain’t over…..You’ve got to come out to hunt and eat.

Maybe, but I’m giving some thought to becoming an indoor cat….there’s too many assholes outside sometimes. Why don’t you do everyone a favor and just stay out here and get run over….