The Yowl of Unresolved Cat Life

I took an eight hour nap today, after an extraordinarily late night, and now lie awake in the middle of the night, acutely conscious, being driven to the point of insanity by the guttural moaning, screeching, and mewling of an alleycat in heat. An alleycat that has dogged me for three accursed years now, disappearing occasionally, randomly (or is it according to some obscure pagan fertility
schedule?), seemingly only to ensure her vocal yearnings will never be so constant as to blend in with my sonic environment and cease to retain their full effect.

In my lonelier moments, as I lie unattended in bed, forced to compare my own sex life to that of cats, specifically to that of the one insatiable cat begging for cat-dick* outside my window, I find the plaintive wailings reverberating through the cement and brick alleyscape unbearably depressing for a host of reasons.

1. Why is it so easy for this cat to unabashedly ask for what it wants, while I find the mating process so fraught with awkwardness, difficulty, and disappointment?
2. Why is it that this cat seems to have so much trouble getting laid, despite its clear intentions? A human female would not have the same problem, should she spread her legs in an alley and shout for all comers to have a go. Maybe she's a really ugly cat?
3. Why can this cat never get enough? Are all cats this horny, or is this cat some sort of rare sex-obsessed feline? And, if so, is there a lucrative black market for these rare animals?
4. Would it be a good thing or a bad thing, for myself as well as for the species, if women behaved like this cat? Would I really care if it was bad for the species but really, really good for me?

The big question on my mind lately, though, is this: how can this cat get away with keeping hundreds of people awake for years? Am I the only one who dreams of leaning out my window with a night-scope-bedecked sniper rifle and putting her out of her/my misery? Are my fellow forced insomniacs so cowed by the threat of PETA-sponsored legal ramifications that they just grin and bear it? Or is this cat simply an expert at hide and seek, or some sort of preternatural master of disguise? ("I heard the cat moaning, but then all I saw was a discarded Fendi handbag, so I moved on...")

Another big question: does this fucking cat ever sleep? The easy answer, supported by years of circumstantial evidence, is 'no.' Or maybe minute-long catnaps throughout the day are all she needs, fittingly. Or maybe this is the real reason she moans and screams: she hasn't slept in three years either.

Regardless, I have no sympathy for this cat for any reason. I am bigger than it, and I will kill it if I get the chance, animal-rights supporters be damned. I'm no Randy Lenz, mind you--he of 'Infinite Jest' cat-stomping infamy--but, all the same, I wouldn't mind it too much if he came 'round my place sometime soon and did his thing.


*I never even thought about cats having dicks. And I now wish the thought had never occured to me, or that I could wash it from my brain. Oh, forgetful mind, don't fail me now!