There’s a new cat in town, a huge black creature with white paws and insanely fluffy fur. I have decided to call him “Loofah.”

Loofah is a bit of a voyeur. Regardless of what room I’m in, if I look out the window I’m sure to see him, sitting very still, peering back at me through the glass. He has a few favorite spots: the porch railing if I’m in the kitchen, where he sits to watch me wash dishes or cook dinner; the driveway if we’re in the rec room, huddled under the car and waiting for us to part the curtains. But his very favorite spot to sit is in the garden just outside my living room window, where he has a clear view of my cats losing their mind every time they catch sight of him.

It wasn’t bad at first, because he wasn’t around all that much. Olive and Lola would be inside, doing their best to hold the living room chairs down, and he’d appear out of nowhere, peeking his hilariously fluffy face through the window. My cats would suddenly become electrified, jumping straight into the air with fur standing on end, and yowling in that terrible way cats do. Lola would retreat to a hidden place, but Olive would race to the window, in full kitty fury, and launch herself against the glass. She’d start with a giant whack, presumably to catch Loofah off guard, and proceed to abuse him with repeated slaps against the window. Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat, I would hear. Pat-pat-pat-pat-patty-pat. She’d keep going, crouched on her hind legs with her paws slapping at the glass until she was completely exhausted and would slink away to my bedroom. Loofah would just watch her, impressively unperturbed, his nose inches from the window.When she left he would turn his silent gaze on me- watching, yawning occasionally- until I left the room.

This was happening about once a day, this indoor cat explosion, but lately Loofah seems to have taken up permanent residence in my yard, which has seriously pissed off my cats. He’s here all the time now, day and night, peering calmly through the windows and every once in awhile putting his paws up against the glass, a gesture which sends my cats racing for cover. Olive and Lola are stressed out and jumpy; there has been no kitty snuggling the past few days. They are at war with this outdoor beast, always on alert and ready to fight. I pitied them initially until I remembered that everyone likes a little drama now and then. Their serene existence has been disrupted, but at least they have something interesting to talk about now.

I’m concerned that Loofah thinks he owns us. We’re his own personal goldfish, swimming back and forth in our glass bowl for his amusement. I worry what will happen when he realizes that we leave the bowl, sometimes for hours. His military stoicism makes me think it wouldn’t take much for this little sergeant to try to enforce a curfew- or worse, an internment. I can imagine him guarding the front door, standing at drowsy attention until the door opens and he flies at us, all teeth and claws, forcing a retreat. Has anyone ever been held hostage by a cat? They can be such little assholes that I think it’s entirely possible. All I’m saying is that if you don’t hear from us for a few days, it might be worthwhile to drive by. If you see a fuzzy black-and-white soldier pacing the grounds, a rolled cigarette clenched in his teeth and a rifle slung over one shoulder, send reinforcements.