My girl cat wants to run away with the gypsies. Gypsy cats, that is.
Yes, she keeps trying to rush out the door when it's opened. She got out into the garage the other day and roamed about for a couple of hours, but that didn't make her happy. She wants outside.
She's seen the feral cats strutting around the neighborhood. I think she's in love with the one who shows up in our back yard occasionally. I admit, he's a handsome fellow, but she's too old for that stuff.
My boy cat, ever the gentleman, urges her to follow her dream. I think he'd like to be rid of her.
But she'd never make it outside. She's been inside since she was a kitten. She has no idea how to stalk a squirrel or bring down a bird like these tough outside cats do. She'd starve to death.
Of course, it might take awhile since she's a bit overweight. (Looking down on her, one thinks of a huge bulging sausage.)
"No, sweetie," I tell her. "Gypsies aren't the happy, singing, dancing cats that the movies portray."
I hope she listens. If she ever makes a break for it, I'm not sure my boy cat will let her back in.