It thinks it’s a kitty, but it’s not. Its fluffy tail
ruffled in the cool night breeze. It scampered around, gaily enjoying the
company of its newly found friends. It seemed to have a mysterious Cheshire
grin on its face. It thinks it’s a kitty. Every night at about the same
time, just before he was ready to go to bed, the cats sent their
representative to his office door. They chose no mild mannered frail feline
for the job, this one's meows were course and rough, not unlike fingernails
scratched across a chalk board. Its cries were sure to get the attention of
even those who tried to ignore them. This night was no different..., yet.
"Okay, I hear you, Mugsy" he said, as he
followed his pet carefully. She had a way of getting precisely in the
correct spot to make him stumble while trying to avoid stepping on her.
He rounded the corner of the house following his
pestering pet to the feeding area. A storage shed held the bagged morsels
that were so anxiously waited for; and he routinely grabbed a bag of food
and distributed part of it in two bowls. That practice assured him all of
his pets would get something to eat while avoiding a major cat fight. That
done he reached down to officially greet and pet each one of his guests.
"Good girl Mugsy, Bugsy, Bonnie, Clyde, Sy..., oh we have a new visitor
tonight," he said sleepily, reaching down to pet it. Too late, he
realized, it thinks it’s a kitty, but it’s not.The clerks in the grocery
store wondered why the man that stunk so wanted three gallons of picante
sauce. They wondered but they were not about to ask. They were just glad to
see him go his way. It thinks it’s a kitty, but he knows it’s not. He
knows it's a skunk.
