The curse of Old Yeller

Things aren't always what they seem.  Take poison ivy, for instance.  In the fall, its foliage explodes into such glorious reds and oranges, a body wants to frolic barefoot in the evil stuff.  Trust me, that is one impulse best controlled.

People wrongly associate black cats with evil.  Everybody expects that, so a black cat would be the last place anything sinister with half a brain would lurk.  Evil wants to ambush a person unaware so it has to find a better hiding place than darkness.  Instead of darkness, it hides in plain sight in the shades of sunset orange or pale early morning sun.  If you want evil, find yourself an orange cat.

For some strange reason, my color blind family has always called orange cats yellow.  Actually, yellow suits their sneakiness better than orange, so I call them yellow, too.

When it comes to a being becoming evil, free will comes into play.  Yellow cats don't want to be evil, so some mischievous entity gave them a blessing which is really a curse.  And the curse is that these damn yellow cats can reproduce faster than a norovirus on a cruise ship.  Get yourself one yellow cat and in the blink of an eye, you've got a whopping infestation of yellow cats.

I suspect yellow cats came to this country on Viking ships.  These Viking cats have managed to retain the pillaging habits of their human Viking pets.  I have disarmed every female on my property of reproductive capabilities.  Still, wave after wave of evil yellow varmints stage raids.  They plunder the food dishes, pester the womenfolk, attempt to take over the dwellings and spray everything in sight.  I don't know where the blasted things are coming from, but they keep on coming.  One disappears, another takes its place.  Even worse, they're probably all descendants of Old Eric the Ugly, the first yellow tormentor. 

At one time, Pretty Darryl was the bane of my existence.  He's been spraying, stealing and fighting around here for years.  But since he's fended the other brutes off , he's been semi-tolerated.  Unfortunately, lately, Pretty Darryl and the current Yellow Beast seem to be in cahoots.  When they're not tearing each other to pieces, they're terrorizing the spayed ladies.  These ladies are not the least bit interested, but these depraved brutes don't  care.  It seems the Yellow Beast has corrupted Pretty Darryl.

So many yellow cats.  Maybe one too many black cats has crossed my path.  A few years ago, on a Friday the 13th, I dropped a mirror while walking under a ladder to avoid stepping on a crack.  So now....

When the moon is full
And the cold wind howls,
Pissing tomcats on the porch yowl.
 Yellow ones, dammit!         

Boo!