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mouse_rantsJudging from my current state of cat-induced hysteria, I would have died of a heart attack before the kids reached the age of 5.
In my last post I was soliciting ways to finish off any little critters the cats brought home; I'm about to decide that the best way to deal with the situation is to keep them inside forever. Possibly in some sort of lock-box.
See, they are generally pretty good about coming in when I get home of an evening, but they have been a bit difficult of late. My neighbor has recently acquired a cat, and my cats have become aware of this, so Fred's new favorite activity is hanging out on the neighbor's 6-foot fence, staring through her window at her cat. So part of the evening routine is now going to peel Fred off the fence (he insists on hanging on) and dragging him in...unless he spots me coming and retreats to the roof. In which case, I have to go out and yell for him at intervals.
This is apparently pissing off Angelina, who is generally a very good cat, because once she comes in she has to stay in, so she sits inside being a Good Cat, while That Bad Cat Fred is outside having fun. So recently she has taken to resisting coming in. Like tonight. She scampered out to meet me when I got home, and then indicated that no, she was not going to come right in and have Nice Dinner; she would consider the suggestion and get back to me. Well, she usually does come in pretty soon, so I started putting together the no-tools-required shelf I got yesterday (which in fact did not require tools to assemble, but I had to haul out some heavy artillery to get into the box - but that's another story).
Anyway, after futzing with the shelves for a while, I suddenly realized I had been home for an hour, it was full dark, and Angelina was still outside. So I went out to walk around the place and call her. No sign of her. Well, she'll come soon - back to the shelf.
Except she doesn't show up. I keep going out and calling and walking around - no sign of her.
Now, next to my place, there is a bit of a hill. You go up a not-too-bad slope to a fair-sized sort of plateau about 6 feet above my level, and then there's a steeper slope up to the street behind me. The whole think is about knee-deep in a tangle of iceplant and honeysuckle and various other viney things. When you get up onto the plateau and look around, you realize that even though I am in a fairly dense condo complex, this particular place is pretty removed from all the buildings. And it's surrounded by trees and undergrowth, and it is of course prime territory for mice and gophers and lizards and birds and all sorts of other cat-attractive things. And based on no evidence whatsoever, I have decided that this is the prime hunting ground for coyotes looking to snatch cats. For this reason, it is my place-of-last-resort to search for missing cats; when I am on the verge of hysteria, I put on some shoes and take the flashlight and go probing around in the dark for signs of struggle, pools of blood, mangled cat limbs and the like. Coyotes, of course, are unlikely to be around at 8:30 at night when people are still out walking their dogs, but I hadn't seen even the tip of Angelina's tail in all my rounds of looking for her, and it was dark, and also I hadn't eaten since breakfast so was probably experiencing some serious low blood sugar. So I grabbed my flashlight and started up the hill, quartering the area carefully with the flashlight (not that I would be likely to pick out blood in the dark or distinguish signs of struggle from the usual disarray). And about half-way up the steep slope, I caught a the shine of eyes....and there was Angelina.
Now about 90% of the time, when I am out looking for her and spot her like this, she immediately runs up to me, because she is a good cat. The other 10% of the time, of course, she decides to be a brat, and does her 'nyah nyah, you can't catch me!' number. But at least I can see she's alive and healthy. This time, she was absolutely motionless. So I struggled up the hill towards her, trying to shine the flashlight at the ground and her at the same time, convinced that she would take off any second. But she sat there, still as a stone, staring at me, not making a sound.
So now I'm well and truly in a panic. She's trapped on something, she's been poisoned, her back is broken, she's huddled over her own ripped-out intestines - it's the only explanation. I struggle up the hill towards her (and it wasn't easy, this is a steep hill). As soon as I get close enough, I make a grab for her, and Miss Unhand-me-I-am-an-Independent-Cat comes up unresisting, without a complaint or any attempt at evasion. So now I'm trying to get down the hill without falling and breaking both our necks, flashlight tucked under my arm and pointing at nothing in particular, trying to search her for injuries while not dropping her. And she's not fighting me. She's not complaining. She must be only minutes from death.
SO....I make it down the hill, into the house, drop the flashlight, start frantically trying to locate wounds - and she wriggles out of my arms, hisses at Fred, and goes to eat her dinner. Perfectly fine. Not a hair out of place. Totally her usual self - including her very vocal objections to me picking her up and hugging her (which I did anyway, several times, partly out of relief and partly to irritate her back for scaring me). I have _no_ idea what the whole thing was about, but like I say - I'm thinking I'll just keep them inside. Maybe hog-tied. Like I say - my constitution definitely could _not_ handle worrying about children.
My garden and my knitting are both coming along, really need to post some pictures - but tonight I'm thinking I'll just finish off the vodka.
In my last post I was soliciting ways to finish off any little critters the cats brought home; I'm about to decide that the best way to deal with the situation is to keep them inside forever. Possibly in some sort of lock-box.
See, they are generally pretty good about coming in when I get home of an evening, but they have been a bit difficult of late. My neighbor has recently acquired a cat, and my cats have become aware of this, so Fred's new favorite activity is hanging out on the neighbor's 6-foot fence, staring through her window at her cat. So part of the evening routine is now going to peel Fred off the fence (he insists on hanging on) and dragging him in...unless he spots me coming and retreats to the roof. In which case, I have to go out and yell for him at intervals.
This is apparently pissing off Angelina, who is generally a very good cat, because once she comes in she has to stay in, so she sits inside being a Good Cat, while That Bad Cat Fred is outside having fun. So recently she has taken to resisting coming in. Like tonight. She scampered out to meet me when I got home, and then indicated that no, she was not going to come right in and have Nice Dinner; she would consider the suggestion and get back to me. Well, she usually does come in pretty soon, so I started putting together the no-tools-required shelf I got yesterday (which in fact did not require tools to assemble, but I had to haul out some heavy artillery to get into the box - but that's another story).
Anyway, after futzing with the shelves for a while, I suddenly realized I had been home for an hour, it was full dark, and Angelina was still outside. So I went out to walk around the place and call her. No sign of her. Well, she'll come soon - back to the shelf.
Except she doesn't show up. I keep going out and calling and walking around - no sign of her.
Now, next to my place, there is a bit of a hill. You go up a not-too-bad slope to a fair-sized sort of plateau about 6 feet above my level, and then there's a steeper slope up to the street behind me. The whole think is about knee-deep in a tangle of iceplant and honeysuckle and various other viney things. When you get up onto the plateau and look around, you realize that even though I am in a fairly dense condo complex, this particular place is pretty removed from all the buildings. And it's surrounded by trees and undergrowth, and it is of course prime territory for mice and gophers and lizards and birds and all sorts of other cat-attractive things. And based on no evidence whatsoever, I have decided that this is the prime hunting ground for coyotes looking to snatch cats. For this reason, it is my place-of-last-resort to search for missing cats; when I am on the verge of hysteria, I put on some shoes and take the flashlight and go probing around in the dark for signs of struggle, pools of blood, mangled cat limbs and the like. Coyotes, of course, are unlikely to be around at 8:30 at night when people are still out walking their dogs, but I hadn't seen even the tip of Angelina's tail in all my rounds of looking for her, and it was dark, and also I hadn't eaten since breakfast so was probably experiencing some serious low blood sugar. So I grabbed my flashlight and started up the hill, quartering the area carefully with the flashlight (not that I would be likely to pick out blood in the dark or distinguish signs of struggle from the usual disarray). And about half-way up the steep slope, I caught a the shine of eyes....and there was Angelina.
Now about 90% of the time, when I am out looking for her and spot her like this, she immediately runs up to me, because she is a good cat. The other 10% of the time, of course, she decides to be a brat, and does her 'nyah nyah, you can't catch me!' number. But at least I can see she's alive and healthy. This time, she was absolutely motionless. So I struggled up the hill towards her, trying to shine the flashlight at the ground and her at the same time, convinced that she would take off any second. But she sat there, still as a stone, staring at me, not making a sound.
So now I'm well and truly in a panic. She's trapped on something, she's been poisoned, her back is broken, she's huddled over her own ripped-out intestines - it's the only explanation. I struggle up the hill towards her (and it wasn't easy, this is a steep hill). As soon as I get close enough, I make a grab for her, and Miss Unhand-me-I-am-an-Independent-Cat comes up unresisting, without a complaint or any attempt at evasion. So now I'm trying to get down the hill without falling and breaking both our necks, flashlight tucked under my arm and pointing at nothing in particular, trying to search her for injuries while not dropping her. And she's not fighting me. She's not complaining. She must be only minutes from death.
SO....I make it down the hill, into the house, drop the flashlight, start frantically trying to locate wounds - and she wriggles out of my arms, hisses at Fred, and goes to eat her dinner. Perfectly fine. Not a hair out of place. Totally her usual self - including her very vocal objections to me picking her up and hugging her (which I did anyway, several times, partly out of relief and partly to irritate her back for scaring me). I have _no_ idea what the whole thing was about, but like I say - I'm thinking I'll just keep them inside. Maybe hog-tied. Like I say - my constitution definitely could _not_ handle worrying about children.
My garden and my knitting are both coming along, really need to post some pictures - but tonight I'm thinking I'll just finish off the vodka.
