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In which cawingcrow's ears are assaulted by the siren stylings of a cat fight.

Extracted from a chat log.

(18:41:28) cawingcrow: My cats are howling insanely.
(18:41:42) azurelunatic: So I read. Any police visits yet?
(18:41:57) cawingcrow: There is nothing wrong up there, I went and checked once already. Not yet. The walls are thin here, so it is quite possible they'll achieve it soon.
(18:43:47) azurelunatic: Now I have this vision of a lovely cross-stitched door hanging, saying something to the effect of "My cats are insane banshees and are not actually being murdered," except in quaint rhyme with illustrations of cats hissing, racing, crashing into vases, and puffing up Halloween-style.
(18:44:02) cawingcrow: *laugh*
(18:45:16) cawingcrow: Now they are sounding like air raid sirens.
(18:46:00) cawingcrow: hmm...wet cat food would be giving in sorta, but would shut them up for a bit. ... gonna go feed the kitties
(18:48:51) cawingcrow: Hell, it may not be my cats, going outside a moment.
(18:50:17) cawingcrow: Nope, got to be him--can't believe the cat would rather scream than eat wet cat food. And he's perfectly happy and frisky when I'm up there. Nothing is wrong with him.
(18:50:54) azurelunatic: An air raid siren, a banshee in pain
A little lost child who knows not his name
All of this wailing reminds one of that --
but none of these; it is my cat!
(18:51:08) cawingcrow: *laugh* So true.
(18:51:36) azurelunatic: That's not even doggerel. It's catterel.
(18:57:25) cawingcrow: Ugly sounding fighting upstairs--be back soon.
(19:00:41) cawingcrow: How embarrassing. I've been blaming the wrong cats. Just went out the FRONT door and saw the combatants, who are apparently fighting right beside my wall by the computer. Gonna go chase them off if I can.
(19:03:33) azurelunatic: 'k.
(19:04:52) cawingcrow: Cats are chased.
(19:05:05) azurelunatic: Hooray!
(19:05:22) cawingcrow: Hopefully they will stay away. Looked like two big guys, so guessing not the in heat bit. I guess beside my house is territory they are spatting over.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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