Which is worse, being in the front of the building or living in the back with the dumpster?? It's a toss-up. Especially since a new instrument has become part of my morning orchestra. In addition to yipping poodles and overbearing mothers, there is a woman who at about 6 AM walks up and down the street and repeats:"Baby Blue? Baby Blue? Here kittykittykittykittykittykittykitty... Baby Blue? Baby Blue? Here kittykittykittykittykittykittykitty..."
After many mornings hearing this repetition, and imagining some old haggard bag with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth (because of the scratchy throaty muttering), I finally peered out the window this morning to see what this feline-calling female looked like.
Yep, she was a frazzled old lady smoking a cigarette. And she was walking up and down the street in her pajamas, searching in the bushes and underneath cars for this unfortunate cat. "Baby Blue? Baby Blue? Here kittykittykittykittykittykittykitty..."
Each morning she does this, and sometimes even in the evenings. I feel like going out there and telling her to get the fucking hint. I mean, this poor cat...first of all, he's named "Baby Blue" for chrissake. Secondly, he obviously does not enjoy living with this nicotine-perfumed old dame, because he's always M.I.A. So leave the miserable creature alone already, and let the entire street sleep in peace.
At least until my morning alarm of "Goodbye, Love of My Life!" starts ringing.
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