Scat, Cat

A grey cat is in the backyard. It has a white patch on its chest. It's got its winter coat on, all poofy and thick. It sits on the retaining wall staring into the window at me. We've locked eyes. It now bounds across the yard and up to the window sill to meet me as if we have a date. It nudges its nose into the window screen. It wears a collar so it is not a stray. But it is giving me the creeps.

"What do you want?" I call to it.

"Meow," it says and rubs its face against the mesh. How cliche. Can't it say anything else?

"Don't stare at me. I don't like it."

It rubs its face into the mesh some more and sits up. "Whrrrrl," it says. It sounds like a gargle.

"No, I am not coming out and you are not coming in."

It looks around. I ignore it. It bumps its nose into the window pane. I tap the window. It jumps down to the ground.

"Go home."

It stretches and tries to scratch the flagstone.

"Go on. Go home."

It runs under our fence to the next yard.

What was that about?