So, as I start every morning, I took Rufus for a walk. For once we didn't have my roommate's dog with us so I decided to let Rufus be Rufus and chase squirrels, sniff what he wanted to sniff, walk where he wanted to walk and so on. I guess we could call it more of a leisurely stroll than a bonafide walk
With the warmer temperatures compared to the last couple of days, blue skies over Colorado and the clean fresh air, it was a good morning, me and Rufus and dozens of chattering squirrels.
Until ....
Duh! Duh! Duh! Duuuuh!
Since I had every intention of taking Rufus to the dog park later that day we cut our normally one mile morning walk down to about a half a mile, cutting through a nearby neighborhood instead of walking around it, as is our normal routine.
Squirrels were all over the place, running up and down trees, chasing each other across the grounds, chitter-chattering at themselves, us and each other. The occasional crow cawed at either the squirrels or Rufus and I. In short, it was a typical day in the life of Jason and Rufus (minus Charlie).
As we came around a corner Rufus stopped and crouched into his stalking pose. I looked along his line of site and didn't see any squirrels near the base of trees or running around on the grounds but further along, up ahead, I did see a black cat.
Now let me explain: Rufus loves kitties. Not in the oh, look, they're so adorable sort of way, but in the, that is my nemesis and I must destroy my nemesis sort of way. He will bypass squirrels to get to a cat. He will ignore a bacon cheeseburger to go after a cat. For all the things in this universe Rufus loves chasing, it's cats that are his drug addiction.
I know this. Therefore, I usually never let him chase cats. Sometimes I do, simply because it's so fun for him and if I know the cat has an escape route: a door, a tree, under a car -- something. Just like I let him chase squirrels and the occasional bunny. I don't necessarily want him to catch anything, but the chase -- the hunt -- is paramount.
Christmas morning to a seven year old has nothing on Rufus chasing a kitty.
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| Rufus Laying in the Grass |
And then we see this cat up ahead. Not a large cat by any means, about the size of a typical house cat, solid black with bright green eyes. It was actually a pretty animal as it sat on some stairs, about 6 steps up from the ground. The black cat watched Rufus and he watched the cat in a stare down to give any Hollywood gunslinger a run for his money. The cat's emerald eyes as wide as they could open. I walk closer. Rufus still leashed. While I don't mind him chasing a kitty now and again, I don't need him hurting himself chasing one, so I didn't let him off leash. A couple of years ago he hurt his ACL chasing a squirrel around a tree and a few years before that he tore open his leg, slicing the skin on an exposed root, as he charged after a squirrel.
As we got closer to the cat Rufus lunged and the cat bolted up the remaining stairs, Rufus following until he reaches the end of the leash, about 2/3 of the way up to the top. The cat is as far from Rufus as it can get, which is more than eight feet away.
Then from behind me, "What the fuck are you doing!"
Huh?
"What the fuck are you doing!"
I turned to see a slightly less than obese woman dressed in what I assumed was either her church clothes or the attire of a realtor (I couldn't help it, she looked like she was a realtor): black slacks below a black shirt with some sort of lighter long sleeved print over that; some gaudy necklace and enough makeup to service the entire circus. "What the fuck are you doing to my cat?"
She was stepping away from a mid-90s Cadillac and approaching me, "Why is your cat outside?" I asked in response.
"Why are you scaring my cat?"
I asked again, "Why is your cat outside?" I didn't explain this, but it's common knowledge in larger cities: pets aren't supposed to be outside running loose. That not only means dogs, but cats as well. This cat was not on a tie out, did not have a collar on and wasn't behind a fence or anything else; it was sitting outside on some stairs, as free as the wind.
"You asshole, you're scaring my cat!"
"Well, you're cat isn't supposed to be outside running around," I said. I didn't feel the need to explain to her that her HOA (that's Home Owner's Association) would back me on this -- my dog was on leash this entire time and I did not let him come into contact with the cat.
"You're a dick," she said in reply.
"Why do you feel the need to be so vulgar," I asked her to which her response was to call me a 'dick' once again. So I said, Well, if I'm a dick then you're a bitch," which was enough of a catalyst to start screaming at me to leave and get off my property. I explained to her that I was not on her property and she nearly went hysterical with statements of, "I own this, this is my property and you're trespassing!"
"How come you can call me a dick and an asshole, but if I call you a bitch you get so upset? I'm not upset. I'm calm," I explained to her, which just made her even more mad.
I should explain. I was walking through a condo association's property. Condo owners own the content inside their walls, not the grounds outside, not the sidewalks and not the grass. While, yes, she does have a financial stake in the grounds, she does not singularly own any piece of property outside her home. Technically, she doesn't even own her front porch or her patio. In Colorado these areas are known as "exclusive use, common property" meaning she has exclusive rights to use those areas, but they still belong to the HOA, not the individual homeowner.
Also, at this point, she doesn't know if I'm a resident of her community or not. It didn't matter: I was on a sidewalk and my dog was on leash. We were doing nothing wrong.
She passed me and followed her cat up the stairs where it waited, eyes wide, fur puffy, "Leave!" she screamed at me over and over again. There was no law saying I have to, so I stood my ground. Where I was and what I as doing was completely legal. And I told her that. And she became even more enraged.
For some reason we've become a society of people who walk away. I don't know why, but it annoys me. We're supposed to cater to those people who want their way instead of standing up for our own. We see it all the time as Ms. Grumpy pants walks down the street and the neighbors cross to avoid her; as people stop confronting He Who Yells Loudest in an effort to not get dragged into an argument; as the Constant Complainer gets his/her way because more reasonable people are tired of hearing them complain over and over again. It's always, don't upset those who get upset easily or as we said in the military, catering to the weakest of the group.
I decided long ago these people getting their way just because they were throwing tantrums. They're the ones who are loudest and therefore they're the ones who are listened to and sympathized with -- and they're always the victim. Are we training a society of victims out there? Just because someone is loud and hysterical doesn't mean that person is morally, ethically or legally right. In fact, many times they're wrong.
"Why don't you let your cat inside," I suggested. She turned to open the door to the upstairs unit and then stopped herself. "Ah, that's not your home, is it? So, technically you're trespassing," I smirked.
"Why are yo being an asshole?"
"I'm not, but you're definitely being a bitch," I said back to her, and she became even more pissed, if at all possible at this point.
She came down the stairs, without her cat I might add, "I'm going to call the police."
"Sure, why don't you," I encouraged knowing full well I was not in the legal wrong and her cat was outside off leash. She stalked past me again and to her car where she pulled out a cell phone, presumably, to call the police. She walked right past me again, within arm's length, to the shade of a tree where she could read her screen and started dialing.
The next couple of moments were her giving her address, unit number and then saying, "This man is harassing me. He won't leave and he's on my property."
She's been vulgar to me since her first words, called me names, screamed at me and I'm harassing her?
"Why don't you tell the truth," I said calmly but hopefully loud enough to be heard through her phone. "I'm on a sidewalk, not your property and I'm not harassing you, you're the one calling me names and being vulgar."
She went on, "He's wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, with a black dog and he won't leave me alone," As she said that she, apparently feeling courageous with the police on the phone, stalked straight towards me and stopped just a foot or so from my face, "Leave me alone! Just go away!"
My mouth was now closer to her phone than it would be to my outstretched hand, I was sure I could reach past her head if I wanted to test my theory, but instead I just said into her phone, "Why don't you tell them that you just came up to me and now you're in my face? I haven't moved one step."
Either she realized her error or the dispatch operator told her to back off because she took that moment to walk away, towards her car. As she moved away she kept on talking into her phone, "I don't know where he lives... I don't know," then to me, "What's your name?"
"I'm not telling you my name. We can wait for the cops to arrive."
Back to her phone, "He won't tell me... I don't know, thirty?" Sweet! She thinks I'm younger than I am! "Brown hair..." and so forth.
She gets into her car and at that point I presume the operator told her to get inside somewhere and wait for the officers to arrive. Having not done anything illegal I had no reason to walk away so I waited for the police. There way no way in the world they were only getting her side of the story. Unfortunately, it was at this point that I thought to pull out my phone and record the exchange.
Once inside her car, she rolls the windows up and starts the engine, again I'm thinking this is just to have the air on and the vehicle secure for her safety. I was wrong. She backs out and pulls away and now I'm thinking she's going to park on the other side of the lot or something. Again, to be safer.
Nope. She pulls out of the lot and turns down the street. I watch her drive off and after she's out of sight I let Rufus know that we're leaving (if she didn't stick around for the police, why should I?) and looked one more time at the black cat that's still outside, still watching Rufus.
To sum up:
- she was terrified for her cat
- she didn't put her cat inside
- she called the police
- she didn't wait for the police
- she called me names: "dick," "asshole" etc.
- she became very upset when I called her "bitch"
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