Volume four

Silver City, NM

I moved to a house on a corner in downtown Silver City, NM. WWW.pbase.com/koyote11. The house was within ten feet to both paved roads intersecting. One was heavily traveled. My landlord lived next door and he was still moaning the loss of his kitty, the victim of a driver. Moreover, there are two nasty dogs that roam freely after sunset. We did, have a nice backyard offering many backgrounds for her sessions to a nearby stake. My routine was clear, I was responsible to come out periodically and untangle and move her to a new location of her choosing. Despite her brilliance in her ability to find ways to escape, she never learned to untangle herself with the leash. I often find her all wrapped up to the point where she couldn’t move. One time, I found her hanging in mid air from a branch. Fortunately the halter distributed the weight to her waist. There was no place I could put her where she couldn’t get tangled up. She was a master at it. So much so that I found it more exhausting to take her on hikes. Moreover, I could sense that she didn’t really like them. Her world then became indoor/outdoor kitty.
Indoors, she was addicted to being touched. Always the charisma, she sits on my lap and we share a moment watching her experience ecstasy. When she had her fill, her mood change and she was off on some smelling adventure.
Often when I was petting her, my hand would venture too close to her belly, which would signal for play. When I moved around that area, her back legs in unison would kick my hand. The claws were firmly in so there was no pain. This would continue until her mouth got into the action biting the hand, again with no pain. She had spots all around the house and whenever I was looking for her, I do the kitty sound and she usually answers and come out to visit.
Whatever the call, she would suddenly shift. The outdoor beckons, she had little patience. She can be quite the nag in her pursuit of freedom. The leash was hurriedly put on and outside we go. She usually called the shots, choosing a place having the most interesting smells.
In a while I come back out and she be all tangled up. She waited for my presence then came the “poor me” meow. I move her someplace else and she happy again sniffing to her hearts content. This repeated itself throughout the day till she chooses to come in.
There was, however, one problem and that is when she wanted to go out during the night, especially if I was sleeping. It started out the same, the meows. When a couple of them didn’t get my attention, then it was the claw scratching lightly on my nose of cheek. She was very quick; she always eluded my attempt to grasp her, making a mad dash to the door accompanied with constant meowing. Thoughts of the dogs tearing her apart raced through my mind, but in front of me, I was faced with constant barrage of meow.
I had the solution; I picked her up and placed her in the shower stall. The plan failed, she climbed out of the stall and picked up the beat of the meow call and scratching on the bath room door. Occasionally, I hear the nails digging into the door as she attempted to climb it.
It was torture and I was paying a high price. Finally, I said enough, fuck you Delilah, I don’t care if the dogs chew you to bits. Go on get out. I leashed her to the front porch. Instantly, she stopped and I was another look in her eye, one of triumph.
Sometimes she stayed out overnight. Other nights, she would climb up the screen meowing to get back in. She would do this a few nights and then stop and wouldn’t do it again for a month or so. It wasn’t a full moon ritual, it was much more irregular. When it did happen, it was very annoying. She knew how to push my buttons; she knew the secret of my strength.
Delilah was showing that she would stay close if I gave her her freedom. I would regret this decision, but she never seemed to wander in her new freedom, she had a real fear of cars so roads were off limits.
One night, Delilah stayed out all night. Again, that sickly feeling, she was out all night. I panicked; pictures of her lying dead systematically flooded my mind. It didn’t take long before I acted emotionally in response to these mental pictures. I printed up one of those sad lost kitty sign and proceeded putting them up in prominent places. Finally in desperation, I called the pound and that’s where she was. She had gotten into a trap where the pound came and picked her up. She spent the night in the slammer.
There was no look of triumph in her eyes, this time. She was so happy to see me and to get out of jail. She would never be free of the leash again.