Something sinister is afoot. Dark deeds are being perpetrated and unseen evil forces are moving amongst us.  Silently, on four soft ninja-like feet, they do the bidding of Satan.  Otherwordly. Deadly.

Pure evil in a fur covered fourlegged strolling about all cocky and SHITTING IN MY FRONT GARDEN form.

Cats.  That’s what we’re talking about here.

There is a cat that lives somewhere near me and the little bugger regularly digs up part of my front garden and does a little cat poo.  I don’t find it very pleasant.  In fact, if really fucking bugs me.

I don’t even really blame the cat, to be perfectly honest.  I know it isn’t sat at home right now plotting it’s next pooing mission, or moving little poo or cat figures around a map of my garden and laughing maniacally like a demented dictator.  It is just a cat.  He (or she) is more likely licking itself, or sleeping, or coughing up a furball or dropping dead animal remains on a bedroom floor to be trodden on bare foot.  Horrible little shit bag.

Oh, sorry.

As you may be able to tell (or if you have read previous posts, may already know) I am somewhat of a dog man.

I take my dog, a faithful waggy tailed soppy great Labrador, out for excerise once if not twice a day.  One of my jobs on these walks includes the fairly revolting task of inserting my hand into a small plastic bag and picking up the horrific smelling produce that comes out of the rear end of the beast.

I have to pick this up and carry it with me until I find a suitable place to dispose of it, which means that I am, for a short time, carrying a bag of shit with me.

I don’t mind this really, although I feel the need now to point out that I do not enjoy it.

What gets me is this; I have to pick up my dogs rather large and disgusting smelling poo whilst the unknown cat of doom can meander onto my front garden, dig a little bit and do its business then bugger off and I am left with cat poo on my front garden.  Plus, I have also had to pick up poo.  It just seems so unfair.

So I have a plan.  I am going to, ninja style, spy on my front garden so I can identify the feline villain, then follow it home.

When I know the location of the evil feline base I am going to deposit bags of Stanley poo on the front door step.  Tonnes of the bloody stuff.  Bags and bags of pure Labrador poop.

Then sit back, steeple my fingers and laugh.

Unless anyone has got any good suggestions as to how to discourage this feline behaviour that does not involve harming the poor little fucker.