His mother must have loved him. But that was a long time ago. He must have had a wife or two or three because there was also Son of Ugly and Grandson of Ugly.
This trio of flea bitten, battle scarred rogues were bad news and uninvited guests. The odious orange ogres were becoming a nightly nuisance. During their raids they pillaged, plundered, fought and pestered the womenfolk.
The worst offender, Old Ugly was a pedophile. He began stalking Tiggy, a girl young enough to be his great-great-great-great-great- great- granddaughter. Flustered, addle-pated Tiggy, didn't know what to make of her scruffy old suitor. Mama was no help in this situation because Mama was off carousing with suitors of her own. Sister Blue couldn't help either. She was off somewhere private, courting in a more lady like fashion.
For a week or two, I was treated to nightly concerts of howling and yowling. I began to patrol my yard, ready to chase off the randy raiders. Sometimes at midnight, poor Tiggy would pass through and I was able to offer her food. The poor child was so rattled, she could barely stand still long enough to eat. And then once she did, she'd be off again, with the ugly old orange cat in hot pursuit.
I was so traumatized by the week of terror, I developed a serious, long lasting aversion to orange cats.
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