Astonishing Alex

This afternoon Alex went outside to play in the 40 F, sunny day. When I heard him scratching at the front door, I grabbed my cane, said Alex, I’m coming, and limped down the hall to the door.

As I opened the front door, two things happened at once: (1) I noticed that Alex wasn’t sitting there as he always is and (2) I heard loud cat screeching coming from somewhere to my left.

My mind instantaneously registered these two observations, analyzed them, concluded that Alex must be under attack, and instructed my legs to immediately take me out on the porch so that I could rescue my little darling.

When I got on the porch and looked into the yard beside it, I saw an amazing sight: Alex was on his haunches flaying away with both of his front paws/claws at a big gray cat like Mohammed Ali finishing off George Foreman after ropa-doping him in the Rumble in the Jungle. The screeching wasn’t coming from Alex, but from the larger cat, who turned and scatted away seconds after I came onto the porch.

Alex turned toward me, leaped on the porch, and ran to his feeding bowls. Just as he usually does. While the furball was eating, I checked his coat for any cuts or scratches. I found none.

I believe that I need to reevaluate some notions I’ve had about the cat who owns me. Perhaps he really can take care of himself in the big, bad world outside.

Meanwhile, Alex the Combat Cat is napping on one of my shirts.