I stepped out into the garden. I figure, it's my garden, even if it has been taken over by row upon row of carefully lined-up alien peas. I can go out into it if I like. Of course, if some human-faced dog waddles by, I'm all for getting the hell outta Dodge and headin' for the hills.
Or maybe this is a Jack-and-the-beanstalk kinda story, and one of them there pea-pods is gonna cannibalize all its neighbors and grow up big and strong and climb to the clouds where I'll find a honkin' huge bag o' gold and a gold-egg layin-chicken twice my size. Wasn't there some giant lady in there too?
So, I stepped outside, and I looked up the street. There was nobody out there. I looked down the street. There was nobody out there neither.
My Orange-Cat sat in the window with an intent look, watching me step gingerly into the nearest row. I waved, but the Orange-Cat didn't move, didn't change expression. It seemed terribly focused on the garden patch.
I cocked my head to one side, and noticed the White-Cat was sitting on the fence dividing my front yard from my back yard. And there was a Black Cat with it. And a tabby. And a tortoise-shell.
In fact, I noticed there were more cats. Some on my neighbors lawn. Others on their fence, in their windows. Long-haired, short-haired and hairless. One even looked kind of like Old Man Terwilliger from down the road. But he didn't own a cat, and besides, he never came outside anymore. Not since that foul temptress of his ex-wife divorced him.
They were all watching me step into the first row of pea-pods.
I bent down, and one of the cats chirruped.
I glanced around.
None of the cats had moved.
I thought it was odd--as odd as anything else that day, this audience of cats watching me silently. Watching me bend down to touch the first row of pea-pods that had appeared overnight in my sunflower garden.
But who was I to argue with a Higher Power?