Moritz is a tomcat. He pretty obviously is. As a good tomcat, he’s aware of the things going on around him, has got a sound grasp of his role in the universe and also is somewhat pensive, yet opinionated. Today he’s giving us the chance of taking a peek into his microcosm.
Me: Hi Moritz, what’s going on?
Moritz: What should be going on? Do you see that one over there?
Me: You mean…?
Moritz: Indeed, that furry, orange nuisance you oh so affectionately call Garf!
Me: Nu, Moritz, what about him?
Moritz: I. See. Him.
Moritz: He shouldn’t be there.
Me: Why not?
Moritz: Taking sides again, eh?
Me: Not so much, but why would it bother you that he’s in some neighbour’s garden?
Moritz: He’ll be coming here soon, you’ll see.
Me: So what?
Moritz: “So what”, you ask? He’s orange!
Me: Moritz, no offence meant, but you’re partly orange yourself.
Moritz: No way!
Moritz [looks at his tummy]: White like a snowflake!
Me: After it has hit the street. But anyhow, why would Garf’s being orange impact his coming here in any negative way?
Moritz: He eats my food. My most favouritest food.
Me: Moritz, you know as well as I do that Garf does not seem to have a home to go to, and that I only feed him the cheap brand of food Your Highness would not even consider.
Moritz: I’ve changed my mind. Now it’s my favourite.
Me: Ohhhhhkayyyyy….. So shall I feed you that food at your food place, too, from now on?
Moritz: Choke on a hairball if you dare feeding me that!
Me: What a snout.
Moritz: Orange cats mean trouble.
Me: Can you see yourself in a mirror?
Moritz: Am I supposed to?
Me: Intelligent cats can.
Moritz [giving me an icy stare]: I’m not orange.
Me: You partly are. You’ve got patches of orange tiger in you, so does one of your sisters.
Moritz: That pussy.
Me: Tsk, Moritz!
Moritz: I’ve seen her prancing around with Barf-Garf. Hehehe… Barf-Garf, I’ll call him that from now on! He’s only just here to cause trouble, that carotty Barf-Garf.
Me: What does it matter to you? Your sisters are spayed. And you are neutered yourself.
Moritz: I hate the vet.
Me: I know you do.
Moritz: That lefty, PC, Zionist academic! That butcher with a PhD!
Me: Moritz, you’re not doing your vet justice; he’s the best veterinarian around here, and neither you nor I know where he stands politically.
Moritz. He. Cuts. Off. Balls.
Me: I know; I paid him to cut off yours.
Moritz: You did what?!? Are you a lefty, PC, Zionist academic yourself?
Me: Moritz, I’ve never cast my vote on the political left, but does that mean I’m not supposed to feel compassion with a cat that might be homeless or at least does not get fed sufficiently at his home? And I’m not quite sure what my supposed Zionist or whatnot leanings and education have got to do with this…
Moritz: You PC Zionists are all about letting cats into your homes!
Me: Not quite, I do not wish to entertain a zoo here, but if I hadn’t provided shelter to your mother days before you were born, you might have starved to death or might have been drowned by some cat hater.
Moritz: I would have made it cause then I still had balls!
Me: If you had made it, who knows? You might have suffered the same homeless fate as Garf.
Moritz: But I haven’t suffered the same fate as Barf-Garf. I was born here. I’m entitled to this home. But if you like Barf-Garf so much better than me…
Me: Just because I feed Garf 1.99 Euros per box-catfood does not mean I’m going to replace you. Don’t be silly.
Moritz: Cats like me are valuable members of and contributors to society!
Me: What’s your prey body count? Two blindworms in two years if I’m not mistaken. Your sisters, on the other hand, are decent hunters…
Moritz: I’m the cutest! I’m the prettiest! I’m the cuddliest! I’m as white as snow!
Me: Nu, Snow White, the only white cat I know in this neighbourhood is that crippled one from around the corner.
Moritz: We share a white heritage! White values! We don’t shnorr of other cats’ food bowls!
Me: I wouldn’t be surprised if you all were related, but I’ve been around this neighbourhood a bit longer than you and know for certain that even that white cat was adopted from a shelter and there have been all kinds of cats around this neighbourhood for a long while. And not to be picky, but one of your sisters is mostly black.
Moritz: She’s Orthodox.
Me: Oh, yeah… And what about the marbled brown one that has only got one white whisker?
Moritz: She’s a member of the lost breed.
Me: Alright, I don’t quite see though that with all that genetic variety in your family alone, why can you not leave Garf in peace? You could well be relatives. And as long as he doesn’t do anything wrong…
Moritz: He scent-marks!
Me: I know, and it upsets me, too, but I told him off when I caught him doing it, and now, it seems, things are fine.
Moritz: Watch your back, errr, your barefoot step. Once a scent-marker, always a scent-marker. It’s in the carrotty fur.
Me: C’mon Moritz, be sensible, this hasn’t got anything to do with fur colour but with the fact that he’s not neutered.
Moritz: Do you like scent-marking? Do you want him to come here to scent-mark?
Me: Have I ever said that? Afterall it’s me doing the cleaning!
Moritz: You’ve got no idea what carrotty cats are capable of! On the other side of the river, they’ve already seized control, they hit on all the cat ladies, they infiltrate society and damage the infrastructure – and they live off other cats’ foodbowls!
Me: Moritz, pray tell, how many times exactly have you been on the other side of the river?
Moritz: I haven’t and I wouldn’t cause the carrotties are there! They’ve already bowed to the carrotties there!
Me: Moritz, are you sure you know what you’re talking about?
Moritz: Of course I am, I’ve heard about it from others that know!
Me: Ones that have been to the other side of the river?
Moritz: Uhmmm, no, I don’t think they have, but what does it matter as long as they are right?
Me: Sorry, but I cannot bring myself to believe that all orange cats are that way; that just doesn’t make sense.
Moritz: But they are! They roam the streets at night, they stay away from home for days on end, you never know where they are hiding!
Me: I happen to know a certain Moritz, who, at the beginning of his adolescence, had gone AWOL for a week; that was before he got neutered.
Moritz: I hate the vet.
Me: If you had grown up under the same circumstances as those tomcats, I doubt things would have been much different for you. Again, I do not appreciate of scent-marking, and not being neutered might be a reason but not an excuse, but a little understanding couldn’t hurt either.
Moritz: A little understanding is what got the other side of the river destroyed! They are already building huge cat trees all over the place!
Me [pointing at other side of the river]: Over there?
Me: I don’t see any huge cat trees.
Moritz: Look harder.
Me: There aren’t any.
Moritz: You are just PC-blind. You cannot see them because they don’t fit your agenda.
Me: I cannot see them because they are not there. At least they have not materialised in a way humans can see. Which does not mean I deny there might be problems with stray cats over there, part of which might be orange…
Moritz: So, Can-Opener-Know-It-All, what do you suggest to keep those problems in check?
Me: As it seems of now, oestrogen shots might do the trick. All that excess testosterone does not seem to do either side any good.
Moritz: Suck my… I hate the vet.