Queenie the River Cat

Hello. I apologize for the delay in this post. I can spew out a bunch of excuses, but if you're like me, you hate excuses. Useless things, really. I'll own it and say that I've been a little lazy and uninspired. Don't cry for me Argentina, I'm not blubbering at all about being uninspired. The truth is that I've been working on this post for about a month but the words were just NOT happening. [Because I love you so dearly, this was unacceptable. I'm not about to subject you to some crap article about a damn cat]. Anyway, Husband calls it writer's block. I call it a bunch of bullshit. Enough of the pity party/excuse gang bang. It's time to get serious.

I mentioned in the Rabbit Head post that the spontaneously decapitated bunny melon might have been the work of Queenie the River Cat. If you pay attention to asterisks and footnotes, you'll recall that I promised to fully explain Queenie in a later blog. As noted above, I've been remiss in this task. For that, I prostrate myself before you and beg for your forgiveness.

Since moving to Danville, I've seen the same mangy cat around the Grand St entrance to the dike. Based on her appearance alone, I estimate that she has been around since the dawn of time-ish and has survived at least three atomic bombings. After running by her in fear for a few weeks, I learned that her name is Queenie, and she belongs to an elderly woman who lives in the house right next to the dike.

I couldn't believe that sweet old lady would own a cat that came straight from Hell, but she did. She even had an adorable little "cat house" on her porch for Queenie [I'm not exaggerating]. This did not, by any means, assuage my instinctual fear of Queenie. Something was definitely off with this cat, but I could not put my finger on it.

After observing her for weeks, Husband and I noticed one thing. There were NO other stray animals near the dike. You're probably thinking this isn't a big deal. Clearly, you've never been in a neighborhood that is adjacent to a wooded area AND a water source. Stray animals come out in DROVES, mostly because people just dump their unwanted pets in the woods [sad face]. Using this logic, you'd think that there would be tons of stray cats and other animals, but there aren't. Husband and I spent a good three hours hypothesizing about the lack of other breathing stray mammals. There's only one possible solution: Queenie was murdering everything and keeping war trophies [e.g. ears, teeth, and paws of her opponents] in her cat house.

I'm sure you'd agree that this is the only logical explanation.

One day while Husband and I were walking Loxley, the woman sternly warned us about letting him get "too close". I assumed she was just being unnecessarily over-protective. I say "unnecessarily" because there is no way anyone in their right mind would let their precious animal/children cargo go anywhere near that hellbeast.

Then this sweet little lady said that she wasn't trying to be rude but that she's "not sure about Queenie" because Queenie came to her "from the river".

FROM THE RIVER.

As soon as she said that, my life flashed before my eyes. I completely understood why I couldn't shake the terror and unease every time I was near her. Queenie is not just some lady's outdoor pet. SHE'S A RIVER CAT. I can tell you that without a doubt, river cats are not just 'stray cats'. Trust me, I've observed them in the natural habitat for quite some time. They're meaner, lankier, mangier, and shiftier than a typical stray cat. River cats are the Chuck Norris of the cat community.

Queenie is no exception.  I'd even be so bold as to take it a step further.

"What could be more terrifying than a Chuck Norris Cat?" you say derisively.

 I'll tell you: a Bill "The Butcher" Cutting Cat. 

Seem like an outrageous claim?  You could only be so lucky. As you'll remember from Gangs of New York, it was all about politics, smelly/dirty people, and Cameron Diaz looking a mess with her crazy-ass hair and terrible accent [she sucks a fat one].

We can [and should] all agree that Daniel-Day Lewis is the MAN. Let's be honest, we held our breath every time he was on screen. The anticipation of his insanity was so terrifying, so good. This is what my nightmares are made of:

I want you to pretend that Bill The Butcher is real and still functional today. Scared out of your mind? You should be.  Hide yo kids. Hide yo wives because it's Queenie The Butcher Cat Cutting, ladies and gentleman.

Proof that she is, in fact, Bill the Butcher:

1. She comes and goes as she pleases, ruling over Danville's Five Points [Grand-Iron-Nassau-Railroad and the dike] with an iron paw and a cold, cold serial killer-type gaze. 
2. You never know what she's going to do: take a body part trophy or show you mercy? It's a gamble. 
3. She stalks the neighborhood looking for other animals to run out of town. Hence the lack of other stray animals in the general vicinity of Danville's Five Points. 
4. She moves with the cool confidence only someone like Bill the Butcher can master. 
5. Most importantly, she has a crazy eyes JUST LIKE BILL.

Still seem like an outrageous claim? I didn't think so. Now you know why my life flashed before my eyes, and I saw it ending in a blur of fur and crazy eyes.

You should all know that I haven't seen Queenie since I started this post. I'm concerned that she's been hiding in the walls of my house, waiting for the perfect opportunity to exact her revenge. In a precautionary measure, I've gotten my affairs in order.





...this is an exaggeration. I've just always wanted to say that. Sounds so important and business-y.