Charles May Have Joined a Gang

I came home tonight from work to discover a white cat sitting on my porch, staring at me with the most shockingly human face I have ever seen on a cat. I don't know if you have ever contemplated a cat, dear Reader, but they are horrible cat-like beasts. They look like cats, except that they are tremendously small, barely larger than a squirrel. (Here's a terrifying thought: squirrels the size of large dogs.) Unlike the chivalric dog, who hates to make eye contact, the devious cat is constantly using eye contact as a tactic for social dominance. Charles is perpetually cowing me with his downright foxy gaze. This is partly the reason why I feel like we are in competition with each other. At any rate, here I find Charles, himself charmingly distracted by a clump of grass, in the company of a group of cats behaving exactly like a bunch of adolescent criminals. As I approached, this preternaturally gorgeous white cat continued to stare at me provocatively, just like one of those beautiful teenagers who mastermind youth violence, while another black cat skittered away, just like one of those sweet kids in the early, easily-spooked stage of their life of thuggery. When we got inside, Charles scarfed some Super Supper and bee-lined for his nook in the closet. I don't know how to talk to him about this, he doesn't want to listen to me, he just wants to sit on my computer all day, cleaning himself. It's probably my fault, for being away so much. I don't know what to do, I just don't know.