The house next door to my childhood home was a rental. This meant that we had many colorful neighbors.
Among the group was the family whose kids would run in front of cars in hopes of getting hit so their mom could sue, my dad’s brother and his super interesting wife from Alabama who would invite my sister over for drinks when she was in high school, and, our personal favorites, the Lopez family (name changed to protect the innocent).
There were four kids in the Lopez household. The oldest, a boy, was dumber than a post. I will admit now before my sister tells you, that I was in love with this dummy, and as a woman now in my 50s I still shudder at the thought, but I digress. His sister was my sister’s best friend and there were two little brothers, the same boys involved in the notorious turd-flinging event. Completing this family was their mother, a sweet lady who would make spaghetti with a 39-cent can of Hunt’s tomato sauce and slap her kids with flip-flops when they misbehaved. Her longtime boyfriend was less of a bread winner and more of a couch sitter and far from a stepdad.
The kids of the house entertained themselves by calling the cops on their mother’s boyfriend and waving at the cop car when they took him away. My sister and I joined in on this activity a few times and were always surprised when he returned to the home again and again.
In the early days we spent a lot of time together. My mom fed these kids often and was used to us being over at their house or vice versa.
Our relationship with the neighbors was tumultuous. My brother, being the youngest, was often coaxed into doing things he shouldn’t—one time the older boys convinced him to climb a tree only to fall and break an arm. My dad tried to beat up their dad one evening after a few beers and they never spoke again. Their daughter often sought refuge at our house and looked to my mom for help when her mother tried cutting her long hair into layers only to give her an involuntary pixie cut.
This leads me to the cats. I don’t know how it started and I really don’t remember how it ended, but the next-door neighbors had a lot of cats. So that meant we had a lot of cats milling around, hiding under cars and scattering whenever the front door opened. The kids next door didn’t seem to mind and the adults didn’t seem to care.
One fateful day my sister and I did something that would become family legend and to this day we couldn’t tell you why.
One afternoon after school she and I saw the neighbors leaving their house. Off to Grandma’s or Food City? We did not know but as they drove away, we noticed that their front window was open. Just a crack. Fortunately, the screen in this old rental house was gone.
This is when we decided to fill their house with cats. We rushed to the window of the house and slid it open just wide enough for a few dozen cats and then we started grabbing cats. At first, we were catching a cat in each hand.
The smarter cats ran when they realized what was going on. It was a bit of work shoving them through the window as they struggled and grabbed the curtains with their claws but one by one, we cleared the front yard. When we were satisfied with our handiwork, we fixed the curtains and slid the window shut.
We casually walked home and went inside and waited. I personally did not count how many cats we shoved through the window but I know for a fact that any number of feral cats inside your house is too many.
I have deep regret for what the cats might have done to their house but I have no regrets laughing to tears with my sister. We still don’t know why we did what we did, but know that spaying and neutering your animals is a must when you live next door to delinquent kids.