Pretty generally, my cats are NOT about excitement. Mostly, they’re about conserving physical resources, i.e., lazing around, with as little movement as possible. Oh sure, there is the occasional wrestling match, when one of the “guys” has to show how tough he is(This is the same one who is afraid to go outside when the door is open; he simply likes to beat up on the rest of them.), there’s the one guy who LOVES to play with things and will carry the jingle-balls around to entertain himself with and actually hauled a boxed light bulb up from the basement so that he could chew on and play with it; the three old ladies each have their own sphere of influence—upstairs, downstairs, outside—to hang out in. Just the other day, Bob, he of the partly-missing tail, smallest of the lot of ’em, had a genuine outdoor adventure. Well, I describe it as an adventure, he’d probably call it a “near-death experience”.
So, I’m returning home from some expedition or other, just about to turn in to my driveway, when I spot a large dog on the east side of the house, a dog which I’d never seen before, a large dog, with big hair. As I watched, the dog took off in pursuit of something and out of the corner of my eye, I saw that this object of interest was Bob, who had been out for his first constitutional of the day before I left. Whoosh! Around the back of the house they went, the dog barking, the cat running like a bat from the bad place, between the Brock house and my garage, past the car , across the front lawn, down the sidewalk and by the time I got out of the car, the marauder dog was at the base of a tree, barking, and there was a black cat with a stump of a tail and a ratty, jingle-bell collar up in the tree, rump-first, looking back to see if that big beast was going to follow him up there.
Well, no. A young man from the family who had just moved in across the street came running up, carrying a box of dog treats (Always keep these handy in certain neighborhoods and with certain pets) and attempting to entice the dog—I never quite got the name—to return home. This wasn’t real effective, as the dog was having a fine old time and probably thought that this was just the best game ever since she—I think it was a she—had moved in to this new place. Every time the young fellow zigged, she would zag, when he went forward, she went back. Great fun!
Finally, he attempted a grab and she took off; he followed. I and the other spectators—Alicia and Matthias Witte from down on the corner—went back to rescue Bob, who was still up there. Easier said than done. Nobody even thought about calling the GFNVFD, they have better things to do. I briefly considered the extension ladder; we all just looked up at Bob, who wasn’t going anywhere. Then Alicia said,” I can get him down. That tree would be easy to climb.” And it was too; there was one low-ish, good-sized branch just below where Bob was still hanging on for dear life. So…up she went and held out a hand to him. But Bob had had just about enough excitement for one day; he took the short-cut—straight down…and out. He landed on his feet (Don’t they all?) and took off for parts unknown, not to return until considerably later that evening when the coast was clear and there were no more threatening visitors. I tried calling him several times( He really does usually come when called) but he waited until it was pretty dark and he had scouted out the territory, besides, he was probably hungry.
Well, it didn’t merit a YouTube sensation like the surveillance video of the cat who saved the little boy from an attacking dog ( The cat later got to throw out the first pitch at a minor league baseball game, not easy when your claws catch on the stitching, I’ll bet) but it was more excitement than we usually get…if we don’t count the uproar the other night around ten o’clock when a strange, wandering dog (Boxerish? Pit Bullish?)with a collar but no tags showed up and drove the two eastside neighbor dogs into a barking/growling/yipping frenzy (That’ll set you right up at that time of night, uh huh). Sounded like somebody was being massacred, no foolin’. So here I am in my jam-jams, barely shod, clutching a flashlight(Remarkably enough, it had working batteries) hustling out of the house to see who had just died or been horribly dismembered—it was pretty quiet again—and found the Wittes, Alicia and Dad, Mark, holding on to the aforementioned dog who, basically, wanted to play…or at least go for a run. Somebody had taken in the other dogs who had been involved in the commotion and we were back to as close to normal as it gets here. Called the police at my house, they said no missing dogs had been reported. I kept the dog while the Wittes went home to be sure that their dog, Max, was in and quiet, then let the intruder go, hoping that she’d head home. Apparently she did; we heard no more that evening. Hope she did not enjoy the experience and will not return.
Other than that, the biggest excitement has been all of the transplanting and lawn work and the fact that I finally got the kitty condos off the front porch and the people-seating on. The usual.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The Earth laughs in flowers.”
Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha !!!!!
