I awoke the other night to unholy moans and wails. It was like a work by Dante at 3 am.
Some cats were out on my patio deck. I think one of them was in heat or something. I've heard (and blogged) that caterwauling is quite a racket but good grief. It was crazy.
Bleary-eyed, I arose to check things out and turned on the outside light for the deck. One cat was up on the roofing and another was just sitting there, oblivious to the light.
Slowly, it stood up and stalked off. It crossed the deck slowly as though on the hunt, its massive shoulders swaying from side to side with each feline step.
One tidbit: it was black.
Chicago! The attack-cat has returned, and possibly after a trans-gender operation of some kind. (Editor's note: ultra keen members of the CC Nation will recall that we suspected Chicago as being female last year, with no confirmation).
Good to know the bugger is still alive. Though s/he never writes or calls and could have picked a better time to start wailing on my deck.