Les Trois Minous

Yesterday, I met three cats.

I’ve not seen any kitties here in the countryside, only in town and that was on a Saturday in the leafy courtyard of the bank by the tourism office. Otherwise, no kitties whatsoever.

Then on Samhain, as I was walking from the store down the gravel path deeper into the sticks where we live, I saw two kitties in someone’s driveway: a tuxedo cat and a brownish gray tabby. The tuxedo cat perked up when she saw me. I called, “Minou-minou-minou!” (That’s French for “Kitty kitty kitty!” And, no, cats here don’t respond to “Kitty.” Animals do learn and respond to our language, I’ve discovered, including cats.)

The tuxedo kitty gamboled up to me. I noticed immediately that something was wrong with her tail and nearly flew into a rage…

Someone had broken her tail in a zig-zag pattern so that it was a permanent “Z”.

I wanted to kill the fucking sonuvabitch. I wanted to bend him over and smash his fucking back into a “Z”. Anyone who does this is to an animal is insane. They should either be shot or dropped in an institution in a straight jacket. Period. (And yes, it was clearly something done on purpose from the shape.)

The kitty purred and purred as I rubbed her cheeks and hugged her tight. I talked to her in simple French. “Qu’est-ce que tu fais? Où est l’amour? Ici? Ouiaaaas, c’est ici, l’amour. Ron-ron-ron.” (Whatcha doin’? Where’s the love? Here? Oh, yeah, here’s the love. Purr-purr-purr.) Her two friends — the other tabby and then Tabby #2 appeared. They too wanted the good lovin’, but the two Tabbies hissed at each other as they approached and eventually came to a stalemate. Fortunately, they both looked quite healthy and uninjured.

When I stood to leave, the tuxedo kitty followed me. I so desperately wanted her to, but I knew it would all go badly one day if she became my kitty. I told her, “Non non! Tu n’est pas mon minou.” She followed me for a while anyway then gave up.

It all broke my heart. Dammit.

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