A few months ago, we were awoken by the strangest sound one could ever hope to hear—a crowing cat.
Squeaker, shown here in mid cock-a-doodle, had somehow gotten the notion that she’d like to be a rooster. So, up a tree she climbed, and at precisely 6:13 am, began her new career in full voice.
Our neighbors across the street already owned a few roosters, and the cocky fowls were less-than-happy with the competition. The little buggers threatened to sue, but after we had a few choice words with them—mostly ‘finger’ and ‘licking’—they wisely backed off.
We managed to coax Squeaker down, and calmly and gently explained to her that cat vocal chords really weren’t designed for crowing, and it would be best if she just went back to chasing the little rodents around the property. She was disappointed, naturally, but after a healthy dose of catnip, she quickly got over it.