Killing Cats

I went to bed late last night and noticed that the night was quiet outside our bedroom window. The window was wide open to let the night heat dissipate and the blinds were drawn up so a quarter of the window was showing.

The golf course lights that usually shine in had been dimmed for quite awhile but the KSL News had just ended and I puttered for a few minutes so it was around 11:00. I sat cross-legged on the bed and undressed to the dim light of the lamp on my nightstand and in the middle of slathering lotion on my constantly dry hands, I heard teenage voices coming from my backyard neighbor's mini-farm. The boy-talk was a lot of phrases filled with, "Yo dude..." and continued for a minute, then:

I can't remember the exact words, but to paraphrase, it was a bold brag that was something like, "Now that I've buried it, I'll pee on it's grave."

It creeped me out. I turned off the light.

Immediately, I pictured a dead cat and the only neighbor boy who is older than five-years-old in his black skinny jeans and his belt around the top of his thighs with his boy-briefs and butt hanging out as he shot basketballs in his driveway a couple doors down. His friends are A-holes. That's J.D.'s description, so you gotta know it's true.

The conversation stopped for a little while so I turned the light back on. More boy-talk. Light off.

I sat up for a few minutes in the dark as the boy-mumble died down and then I layed down and went to sleep.

Today as we ate J.D.'s incredible dinner (ask me for the recipe) I sat looking out of the window to our new neighbor's mini farm, I happened to remember the boy-talk and told J.D. about it.

He said the neighbor wife was calling her cat all day.

I fretted about it for awhile then asked J.D. to walk around the corner so we could ask neighbor wife if her cat was missing. He balked.

Because he loves me he pushed me around the block. I embarrassed him. I did. But he lifted me up the neighbor's porch steps so I could introduce ourselves. The neighbor was freaked out. I think he thought we were Mormons as I introduced ourselves. He wasn't thrilled to meet us so I got right to the point and asked if his cat was missing.

No, she was right there in the living room. Thank GOD! J.D. felt the neighbor's weirded-outness so he told him that I had overheard a creepy conversation.

He gave up his name, Rick... or was it Rich... but he had a live cat that was purring on the back of the couch next to his wife. I'm convinced that some other neighbor is calling her cat and hoping that he'll make his way home tonight. He won't.

I really don't want a Sulejman Talović or Harris and Klebold to live in my cul de sac. They killed cats. Cats led to killing people.

I admit it, I love my cats and I don't want them dead. The question is, should I report the pants-hanging-low kid or ignore it? And my other questions is, when did I become the crazy OLD lady in a wheelchair down the street that thinks the world is out to kill her cats?