What's Out There

Night before last, meaning Thursday morning about 1:00 AM, I was sitting in the dining room eating a snack before bed (blueberries in cream, if you must know).

A minute or two earlier I'd reprimanded Gwenith for using an armchair back as a scratching post. So when I heard Llewellyn's claws precipitously scraping over the fake Pergo, I thought, she's at it again: he's upset because she's being naughty.

I turned around, and Gwenith was nowhere in sight. But the dog was still dashing frantically here and there, jumping at the windows, running into one room, then another, whining, manic, unwilling to listen when I told him to sit, desperately urgent about something.

I looked out the front door, nothing stirred. And Llewellyn wasn't barking, as he would if a person or another dog were walking by. Still, he was sure there was something out there. He wanted to go see; of course I didn’t let him.

But it was time for his nightcap walk to the alley, so I leashed him up and took him out the back. Immediately, he pulled towards the side of the porch, towards the screened openings and the walkway below.

There definitely was something there: I could hear it rustling in the hostas.

Back in--with dog-- for the flashlight. Turned it on; I could still hear the rustling, but saw nothing.

Got Llewellyn out to the alley all right, and happily he didn’t yank and pull me to get at whatever was at the side of the house. A stray cat? Skunks . . . ?

Oh, I hoped not! I've never had skunks in the yard, but I've seen them in my neighbors'. Their gates don't fit as well as mine. Though something's been digging a hole under my front gate lately . . .

That was last night. Tonight, at dusk, I was taking out the trash. I came out the back gate, and there, across the alley, was a group of six or seven black and white-- I wish I could say cats, but no, it was Pepe LePew and all his clan. What would you call it-- an odor of skunks?

They sped up and moved away down the alley when they heard me. But when I came out again with the next bag, there was one still lingering . . . on my side of the alley . . . just at the end of my property. I spoke to him nicely and asked him to move away, please . . . And instead, he came closer.

Nope! Back inside the gate!

Eventually, by dint of whistling, chattering, and working away at the squeaky gate latch, I frightened off any black and white children that were hanging about and got all my trash in the barrels without mishap.

But. Tonight, that is, Thursday night, Friday morning, at about 12:40 AM, I was again at the dining room table, eating a very late supper, when again the sound of Llewellyn's claws against the plastic wood floor ripped through the house; again, he began frantically to leap at windows and hunt from one room to another; again, he whined and was in a world of his own as he searched for whatever it was that was out there.

Nothing out the front door, again.

Nothing rustling in the hostas in the side yard tonight, thank God.

Nothing even in the alley, when I took him out to do his business.

But unless my dog is bewitched, there's something lurking around our house, something he's determined to catch or drive away.

Something that makes its presence felt in the witching hour between midnight and 1:00 AM.

And if it's furry, black with a white band down its back, and possesses distinctive and projectile scent glands, I'm just as determined that my dog shall leave it the hell alone. There isn't that much tomato juice in the world.

In Case Anyone Was Wondering . . .

. . . The scent of the pet shampoo has worn off sufficiently, and Rhadwen is back to grooming herself. To prove it, may I present this in evidence:

(Oh, if my calico kitteh were human, I'd be in so much trouble! Lolcat captions welcome!!)

Scare

Early this afternoon I looked out one of the front windows to see how the flower border at the front of the house was doing. I glanced down and "That's strange. There's a window screen lying on one of my delphiniums!"

Sometimes I can be really slow.

Window screen . . . window screen . . . Oh my gosh, there's no screen on the window! The window is wide open! There's no screen on the window, one of the cats must've been lying against it, and pushed it out!

The cats. Where are the cats?

My kittehs are all indoor cats. Safer that way. My former cat, the late, great Didon, lost her life or was stolen when the people I gave her to when I went to England to study theology let her become an indoor-outdoor cat. My previous owners here told me there was a guy on a neighboring block who habitually shot roaming cats with a BB gun. I've seen too many pathetic and bloody kitty carcasses on the roads. No, apart from allowing Rhadwen some occasional R & R in the fenced backyard, my kittehs stay indoors.

But the front window was wide open, with the screen outside.

Ok, don't panic. Maybe they haven't gotten far.

I came outside, and thank God, there was Rhadwen lying casually on the walk that runs by the side of the house, sunning herself. She wasn't going anywhere, so I went to retrieve the screen.

It'd smashed and decapitated the poor delphinium. From the damage, I'd say it wasn't just the screen, but the weight of a calico cat landing on it, too. And the damaged parts looked pretty wilted. How long would that take . . . ? How long would Gwenith and Huw have had to escape, if escape they had?

Happily, Rhadwen was ready to come in, and followed me through the door needing no persuasion.

I tried to put the screen back in the slot. Couldn't make it go. Looked at another window to see if I had it right. Still couldn't figure out how to put it in. Thought about how I hate those windows anyway and wish I could afford to get new ones.

Realized I was thinking slowly again. Idiot! Just shut the darn window and go look for the kittens!

Right. Assume best case-- still in the house.

No kittens on the first floor.

No kittens on the second floor. Looked under both beds, in the closet, everywhere.

No kittens up in the third floor study. That leaves the basement.

Came down from the third floor, and saw Huw walking into my bedroom. Where'd he come from?

I don't care. He's accounted for.

Downstairs, heading for the cellar to look for Gwen. But whew! there she was, stropping herself on the chairs in the dining room.

All cats present! And one dog, who'd been helping me look!

Gelobt sei Gott!

The window is still shut, the screen leaning against the wall below it. Nice to know that the first impulse of all my critters was not to bolt for it. Now I remember it, that screen has come loose before, and I'm taking no chances with it again.

Asking for It, Part 2

If Huw asked to be launched into the drink in one way, Rhadwen did this evening in another.

I try to be considerate of the kittehs. If my big calico decides the bathroom sink's the most comfortable spot in the house when the temperature's in the 90s, who am I to dispute her choice?

But sometimes I have to use the wash basin. And if she won't get out when I ask politely, a trickle of cold water can be an incentive for her to let me have the use of my property.

That happened enough times today that by early evening Rhadwen was already a pretty damp cat.

And I've noticed a brown dirty spot on her white fur that she's not been attending to.

That does it! She's getting a bath!

And she did.

I have to wonder if there's something wrong with her. She didn't scratch me at all. In fact, when I lifted her up to wash her tummy, she put her little paws up like small child that wants its mommy to pick it up.

She's clean now, but it bothers me that she hasn't done all that much towards licking herself smooth. She's let herself dry all spiky and punk, and was very happy to let me go over her with the grooming brush.

I'm hoping it's because she doesn't like the smell of the new cat shampoo. She seems okay otherwise . . . I mean, she's eating and drinking and all . . . and jumping on and off the bed and the sofa and the dining room table and everywhere as usual . . . But if she won't groom herself, that's gotta mean something's wrong.

Right?

Meaning the next thing Rhadwen might be asking for is a trip to the vet.

Asking for It, Part 1

Huw is nothing if not adventurous. He's first in every clean litter box, he's tried out the piano--repeatedly--, and he stands on his hind legs at the back door, gazing longingly into the garden he's not allowed to go into.

Couple nights ago, I had drawn my bath after a hot day working outside. I was still at the sink, brushing my teeth or something, when Huw stalked in, eager to see what was going on. He stood up and leaned over the edge of the tub. And stared.

Watter. Tihs iz teh fass-- fassin-- neet!

A paw went in. Splash! Again. Splash.

I kept doing what I was doing. Behind my back, my brown tabby was apparently thinking:

Ai haz a thurstee. Awl tish watter-- want!

Splash!!!

I turned--to see his front paws in the water in the tub and his haunches just barely, precariously, gripping the rim!

O noes! Do nawt want!

I reached in for the rescue, but too late! Huw was in the drink and going for a brief and unwanted swim.

Ai mint tuh doo taht, he says as he licked himself dry thereafter. Mah poyz, let me show u it.

Sumer Is Icumen In

You want signs of summer? Here are the signs of summer around my house:

First we have calico cat on the half shell:

What was that? Water? What does Rhadwen need with water?

Me? No, of course I wash my hands in the bathtub!

Always being careful, of course, not to slop one brown tabby. Huw enjoys basking in a tub bottom as cool as he is.

Open windows are a summer attraction as Gwenith displays her blonde sophistication to an admiring world.

And for Llewellyn? For him, summer means birds, and squirrels, and all manner of wildlife to point at and chase. Lhude squawk cuccu!