Big Meanie

             Today the cats voted me the meanest pet owner ever. Here it was, a glorious spring day--sun shining, birds singing, bugs hopping--and I was completely ignoring their heart-wrenching pleas to go outside.  My husband had sprayed the lawn with weed killer and until it dried, there was a "no cats on the grass" policy in force.  
              I calmly explained this to the clowder, many times.  I brought them each a tender shoot of catmint to munch on.  I opened the windows to draw  the outdoors in to greet them.  Did they appreciate any of this?  Of course not!  Instead they piled into the five square feet of space by the kitchen door and howled in discontent.  If I left the kitchen, they followed, continuing their mournful cries.  After an hour of this, cat turned on cat and fur and claws flew in angry frustration.  (Actually, this may have been a ploy to get kicked outside--starting fights is usually a sure way to be evicted.)  
             The hour of fighting turned into another hour of despair.  Mutual misery turned enemies into friends.  Wonder of wonders, Biff and Frank actually snuggled together on the kitchen door threshold.  The remaining three ganged together for a campaign of chaos, another tactic to get ejected from the house.
             By this time the lawn was dry and I couldn't take another minute of their presence.  I threw them all out.  Hopefully their systems can take a little weed killer--it can't be any more dangerous than the wrath they inspired in me.