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A few nights ago, my cat attacked me. Not a friendly scratch, a loving bite or a misunderstood “ what the hell is going on? “ attack. She ripped my face and scalp while I was sleeping. It was 5am. Just as the rubbish collection truck rolled in.

An early hour in anyone’s book. That being said, my first reaction was to bury my head under the pillow to escape the fury.  Was my hitherto tranquil and delightful companion somehow demonically possessed? Did she have a brain tumour? Did she somehow turn “ nasty? “  Did I need to euthanise her?


Only days ago, my cat was so terrified that she ran to the cupboard under the stairs and tripped me up and I got a bloody twisted ankle. The only thing that happened was that the next door neighbours put some rubbish in the bin.

About 7 years ago, I adopted this poor and fragile young calico cat from an animal refuge. She could barely walk and I was told that she would never walk properly again. She was no doubt brain damaged. I was to take her home to die. She had been used as a football and kicked on to a road in front of a car. She sustained multiple injuries. Her pelvis was broken, her legs broken and her entire body was fractured and she was a frail, tortured and barely alive little soul.

I took her home. She was timid and so terrified that she hid in a corner of my bathroom and would not venture out. It took 3 days before I could get her to even approach me for food or her litter box – so dreadful was my presence to her.

Over the coming weeks, I massaged her damaged limbs and soothed her damaged soul by letting her be herself and trying, desperately, to let her know, that I was on her side.


It happened over time. She started to walk, to manage to jump and one day, she popped on to the couch beside me. I cried with joy. The one thing that I was told would never happen, happened.

As the years have passed, my calico cat has become a strong and opinionated member of our two party household.

I am more than happy to do as she wishes and accept her kisses and love.

Over the years, I have noticed that my calico girl does not like certain men. She will run for cover sometimes when a man arrives to fix my tap – yet, with others, she stays happily by my side and is without distress.

My calico lady does not go outside. She is too fragile for the world that lies outside the confines of her sanctuary of my home and 4 walls. Her life, within my home, is a place of sanctuary and she deserves it.

But something happened two nights ago. She attacked me.

I truly thought that I would have to “ put her down. “ It has caused me great grief. How can I murder this brave little cat who survived such horror, only to be killed by the one person she has trusted for 8 years?
But I could not endure another attack such as the one I had.

I rang a vet. $ 450 to do the deed. It staggered me.

Surely it is not that bloody expensive to shove an injection in some poor cats arm and let the owner/companion take the little cat away?

However, thank goodness, the cost was prohibitive. I had some family members suggest a hammer. I declined that offer. No doubt in jest but not necessarily appropriate.

This morning, after my calico girl slept In the lounge, I realised what had happened.

The next door neighbours are meth addicts. Is it possible that my cat was treated so badly by meth addicts and the smell from the bins triggered a reaction? When the bin was opened, was some smell opened up?
For me, it makes sense.

But then, I have to make sense of a cat I love who hurt me.

When we believe in someone or something, we will defend because that is what we do.

Loves comes first.

Fortunately. I have found a reason for my calico girl’s behaviour.

What reason do other parents find for their “calico kids “  lighting fires, robbing shops and bullying everywhere.

I have a cat, confined to my home.

But what about the leftists? Who scratch, have fits and seizures whenever Trump speaks?

Maybe they need to look in the rubbish bin, the waste and the trash that is their world.

Because so many of us are like my calico cat. Ready to act and react when threatened.

I was not the enemy but she saw me as one? 


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