The garden offensive

There's a new bully in the neighborhood, and the fact that he is a cat does not make me dislike him any less. My cat, Phi, often spends time outside, where she wears a harness and is attached to a line. She likes to sit under the pine tree and dream of catching squirrels. (A dream that does not seem likely to come true, as mousing is not apparently one of her skills.) On Sunday, we let her out for a few hours. When we brought her in, we noticed her safety collar had come off and she had a tiny scratch near her eye. I wasn't too worried because she's gotten tangled up in the branches before. But after last night's session outside, she had a tiny sliver of her ear ripped off. I'm so mad, and I feel terrible for her, because she's tied up and can't get away from scary cats. She's also ten years old and only weights seven pounds, so the bully is picking on a tiny old lady.

Andrew has grand plans for a cat-frightening device, which involves motion detectors and sprinklers. But in the end we will probably just sit outside with a bucket of water until the bully cat shows up and dowse him.