There is a cat living outside my house who may just be the most annoying thing to happen to me since puberty. 

My landlord let it live in her part of the house for two days last weekend while a very bizarre woodchuck trapping endeavor took place. While at first the cat cried and hissed for hours trying to escape from the house, it suddenly realized it had food, water, a window and air conditioning.  The crying was replaced with purring and 10 hour naps.  Then a desire for snuggles.  Put back on the streets once the woodchuck escapade was completed, she’s been trying to get back in to the world of ever-flowing cat food and air conditioning ever since.  She seems convinced that both apartments in this house will provide these things, and has been serenading me with song every night since.  I didn’t ever like that cat singing the commercial’s song, and I don’t like this cat keeping me up at night. Even as cute as she is.

A particularly funny arrangement at the house I rent in Kingston is that the man-friend and I refer to it as our “city-home”, using his house in the Catskill’s as our weekend “country home“. This is ridiculous for several reasons, starting with; this is NOT a city house.  It’s a beautiful Victorian with an English Garden and is seemingly hidden in a pocket location in the city of Kingston.  It is minutes from anything I could possibly need (and yes, this includes both a grocery store and a beach) but is tucked away in a quiet place.  But for the location being convenient to EVERYTHING (the polar opposite of the “Country House” location) it gets dubbed the ‘city house’ by us.

Now, the landlord, who is the only other person living in the two family Victorian, views this as her and her husband’s Country House.  She lives on the Upper West Side of Manhatten.  This is an appropriate statement, and an important lesson in perspective.

Important to note: The trapper was not Bill Murray, which is further proof that I cannot have everything that I want in life.

While this is her country home and my city home, we both recently agreed on one thing:  The woodchuck that was living under the house, destroying the foundation and eating the garden had to go. So, a trapper was hired and the saga began.  This trapper informed her that he could not release the woodchuck anywhere and consequently, the only option was a kill trap.  My landlord is an animal LOVER (see first paragraph) and was not happy, but had no choice.  Thus, all the friendly animals in the neighborhood were gathered up and brought inside the house, and so began the two days of us tripping over animals, popping corn and sitting at her window staring at the trap, waiting to see the woodchuck meet its fate.   No, we don’t have cable TV. Why do you ask?

Soon after the trap had been laid, and once I’d had my fill of watching nothing happen (just like a baseball game or a golf game), I left to go to the country house for the weekend. When I came back, I had the porch kitty crying for the better life she had while the woodchuck was avoiding (unsuccessfully) his own fate.

That’s what life is like, here in the city…

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