I'm not winning the 'PeTA Member of the Year' Award

As I've written before, I'm a dad, a husband and a man. That should be clear. I've also written about one of my great fears as a father. That one really isn't a 'drop to my knees and cry like a baby' fear, more of a 'hope to hell this never happens' fear. You ladies should know just how lucky you are. I'm breaking 'The Code' just writing this.

It is true. Men do have fears. Shh...don't go telling anyone I said it. I'll deny it like it's my job.

I'm sure you are wondering what this text on the left has to do with a picture of the band on the right. Well by the time I'm done telling this little story, hopefully you'll figure it out.So, Friday night is our monthly meeting of Whiskey Club. Friday was also the first day of spring break for the kids. Easy peasy. My parents had come down in the morning, spent part of the day hangin' in our fair city and then drove them back to my hometown to watch them while me and the Mrs work during the day and then I go out with the boys at night. The house was this magical place after work...it was quiet. Did you hear me? Q - U - I - E -T

I had about an hour to enjoy that quietness before I would need to leave for our monthly meeting. I had a little supper, watched some TV, dozed off for a few minutes (taking a huge risk here...napping without an alarm - EEK!)

My slumber was interrupted when I hear my cell phone ringing and almost in that same moment the door bell starts dinging. Whew! I would have hated sleeping through the meeting.

I had slipped into something more comfortable (t-shirt and boxer - seriously, get your mind out of the gutters), business formal is not the usual dress code for Bourbonators. When the door bell rang, I quickly realized that I should probably become less disheveled before stepping out of the bedroom. I do try to answer the door wearing pants.

Ringing my doorbell were two other Bourbonators. Holy crap! Was I hosting tonight? I answered the door. They were wondering how to get to the host's house. This month, the host lives about a mile from me...he's almost a stumble home. I get my things together and headed out to the garage to get my minivan.

To my surprise, I was greeted by a cat in the empty spot where the car usually sits. My friend asks, "is that your cat?" No. We don't have any pets, let alone a mangy looking cat.

We seen stray cats around the neighborhood before, and this one looked like one I'd seen. It's fur was a bit dusty looking and it was missing part of it's ear. It wasn't the mangiest cat I've ever seen but this cat was no ones fat, house cat.

I don't like cats. There, I said it. I don't wish ill will on them, but I don't like them. I REALLY don't like stray animals - AT ALL. There's this part of my brain that tells me that all animals that don't spend all their time indoors are swimming with diseases and/or parasites . I'm afraid of strays.

The friend asking the question seemed to like cats, he picked it up and carried it out of the garage (I seriously considered blowing chow right there...he held the cat...in his hands {shiver}). I backed the minivan out of the garage, shut the door and led the caravan to the site of Whiskey Club.

Now this really wouldn't be much of a story if if just ended there. We get it...OhCaptain's afraid of stray cats. But wait! Like any good infomercial - There's MORE!

I took it pretty easy on the liver and enjoyed a finger of a nice Irish Whiskey and a finger of an even better 16 year old Scotch. Washed it down with an average German Hefe-weissen beer,and followed it all with a Cherry Coke Zero. This isn't exactly enough to get me hammered. 3 drinks in 6 hours. I'm good to drive home.

I love this drive. It was a new moon so it's completely black on this country road. Not a car for miles. I'm usually nice and paranoid of hitting deer on nights like this. Not that I really care if I remove yet another one of these large rats from the eco-system, but they do tend to do some damage to the vehicle.

When I got home, I pulled the van in the garage, got my stuff and headed into the house. My bride had been asleep for hours, so I was trying to be extra quiet.

"Meeeooooooowwwwwwww!"

W - T - F ???

It was the sickest, loudest sound I'd heard. That mangy freakin' stray cat was back and wanted into my damn house!

This is where I'll be losing all the PeTA members that read my blog (No. I didn't kill it...). Under no circumstances will anyone in my house be allowed to provide room and board for a stray cat. There was no way I was letting this cat get cozy in my garage.

I needed a plan.

I was in the laundry which connects to the garage. The cat, was sitting on the step just outside this door. I opened the door just a crack to do a little intell. and the cat tried to make it in. A quick slam of the door kept him at bay. I closed the door that connects the laundry room to the rest of the house (I'd hate to have to burn down the house to get rid of whatever is on this damn thing), picked up stuff I wouldn't want it in contact with, made sure the closet door was closed. If I opened that door, he wasn't getting very far...but is this what I want to do?

I changed my plan to go out the front door of the house and open the garage door via the keyless remote. There was just too much risk to the inside of the house. Before leaving the laundry room, I grabbed a broom and a coat and headed out on my plan.

Having played countless hours of Cowboys & Indians and various other military style games as a boy, I employed a flanking maneuver on this flea bag in order to direct towards the now open garage door. I have a 3 stall garage. The third stall has lots of places to hide. My god, it's 2am, I really have no desire to drag this out.

Using the broom, I gently but sternly directed the cat to the open garage door. I got outside with it and hit the keypad to close the door. Had I really been thinking, I could have just grabbed a loose garage door opener. It's 2 am people.

Now that we were outside together, the cat really just wanted to get inside where it was warm. My cold, unfeeling heart still had no sympathy for this probably diseased cat entering my domicile., but CRAP! Now, how do I get back in my own damn house?

The feline intruder kept trying to snuggle up to me. Meowing pleasantly the whole time. There were brief moments that I started feeling sorry for the poor thing, it was in the low 30's, but just how many forms of lice could there be? Eew!

I worked my way back to the front door. It still closed from my exit, but I'm not small and still needed to make a space wide enough to get in without letting the cat sneak around me.

We danced for about 10 minutes in front of my house. Me gently nudging the cat with the broom, trying valiantly to keep the cootie breeding hair ball from touching me. Slowly working my way to the door. It had dawned on me that I might be very lucky that this is 2 am or someone watching me might really be enjoying a nice laugh...or better yet, making me a YouTube star.

This cat was good. I mean he was like NBA good at making moves. Parry left, he ducks and makes a quick move right. This little critter wasn't giving up easily. We ducked, dodged, swiveled, spun and nudged until finally, I got my big ass through the door and back in the house.

The now permanently unusable broom was returned to the cat free garage. I had defended my home.

I washed my hands for a good 5 minutes, took off my clothes in the laundry room and hoped that I wasn't already exposed to some zombie virus.

The furry Petri dish went back to standing next to my garage door. I could still hear him purring to get in. If my kids were here and saw that, they'd be begging me to let him in.

If it wasn't 2 am on a Saturday, I might have called Animal Control. It would be nice to know that if this cat wasn't already corrupted that it got a good home.

So, what were you doing at 2 am Saturday morning?