First I must preface this blog post to state that it is not my intent to poke fun at a group of people that have chosen a different religious path than mine. As my path is a tad faded and hard to follow, I appreciate their ability to stick to it.
And they also offer publishing opportunities for writers through The Watchtower
magazine. I just wish they didn't go after subscribers door-to-door. ;)
This afternoon I was in full writing swing. The muse was camped out on my right shoulder, giving me the odd thumbs-up as I briskly worked through some pesky edits on the WIP
. When the doorbell rang, it totally blew chunks. Talk about bad timing.
To open the door and spot two bible-bearing, smiling women was the absolute last thing I needed, but I tried my best to be polite.
"Get the hell off my porch, you zealots!"
Okay, maybe it was more like: "Uh, thanks, but I'm not a religious person. Have a nice day."
Before I could shut the screen door, the younger woman held it open. Great, I thought, they can't just take "Hell no!" for an answer.
"We understand," she said. "But does your neighbour own a black cat?"
She looked almost...anxious. And I noticed her clutch the bible closer to her chest.Ohmigawd
, had they done something to my neighbour's cat? "Yes, they do," I replied, opening the door up again. "Why?"
"We think he might be sick. He looks a mess, and he's howling," she said. "Do you have a key? It might be best to take him inside."
I assured them that I had a key and would do something about it. They smiled and left my front porch, moving on to the limited prospects of the houses down the rest of the street.
While Bonnie of two months ago would have simply grabbed the neighbour's spare key and hopped next door, I took a moment to become suspicious of the two charming bible babes and made sure to lock up my home securely before I went to see what all the fuss was about.
The neighbour's cat had turned into the spawn of Satan.
Well, it might have looked that way to someone who didn't know Noah. He's a black cat as old as dirt, who's also rolled around in a lot of it.
Noah's pushing 18 and he takes every opportunity to let you know about it. His arthritis makes self-cleaning a thing of the past and his rusty joints give him a scarecrow-like stance at the best of times. He's also really, really cranky...and deaf as a post.
Since we know each other I don't find his appearance all that odd. Or the howling screech that used to pass for a meow a lifetime ago.
But if you're a friendly, subscription-offering Jehovah's Witness, he's pretty darn scary. Hellish even.
It was my pleasure to let him back in the house; he'd done enough work for one day.