A Little Cat Drama
I'm not the sort of pesky blogger who litters her blog with endless links to other people's stuff. HOWEVER, as an unashamed supporter of London 2012 (sorry dear sister, but until you quit your addiction to day long outlet shopping splurges I can't take seriously your squeakings about £20 a year extra council tax) I couldn't help but snigger at this: Street Riots Mar Paris Bid for the Olympics
Talking of which, I was a little disappointed to learn that the sports that are going to be nearest me in Regent's Park if London gets the Olympics and if I still have my flat by then, are
1) baseball
2) softball
3) road cycling.
Not exactly bodice rippers, eh? And even then we might not have 1) or 2), because they are - deservedly many including me might say - finally on the IOC list of sports for future elimination.
My only hope is that someone decides that having 6,000 people jam onto Horseguards Parade for the beach volleyball competition, only 50 yards from the prime minister's front door, might be too much of a security risk, and it gets relocated.
* * *
This weekend, LandladyLynn went off to a corporate junket in a place called The Forest in South Carolina. It sounds a cross between Camp David and Bohemian Grove (for more details on Bohemian Grove, see Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City...). Among the delights The Forest had to offer were turkey hunting - funny how that keeps cropping up - quail shooting, golf, and then - for the ladies, a sightseeing tour of Charleston. I tried for days to persuade her that she should not be constricted by old fashioned sexist notions about ladylike pursuits, but Charleston apparently it was.
Anyway, I digress. The point about all this was, that this weekend I was on triple cat duty. As if an increasingly bouncy and Tigger-ish NewKitty and an increasingly sulky and uncooperative Sapphirethecat were not enough to deal with, this week Boston Kate and family are in Florida and I had long ago volunteered to look after their Zephyr, le chat extraordinaire. Zephyr is a most apt name for this beast, as he has this tendency to howl through a house at gale force, scattering cat biscuits, litter crumbs and cardboard box shreds as he goes.
Knowing that Sapphirethecat (who in every aspect apart from looks bears a striking similiarity to Marlon Brando) would likely explode at the sight of a single additional alien paw on his territory, I was happy to keep Zephyr at BostonKate's house on the other side of the mountain in Keswick, and commute between the two locales. Returning home from an exhausting pitch black pursuit around the garden trying to bring in Zephyr last night, however, I was unprepared for what awaited me when I returned home.
Up till now, NewKitty has had enough sense to steer clear of Sapphirethecat's territory, particularly the sacred supper dish. But last night, all sense of selfpreservation seemed to have deserted him: he was scoffing Sapphire's cat biscuits. Sapphirethecat was not pleased. I took an executive decision to remove NewKitty to the sitting room for his own safety. But Sapphire not only followed, but he walked up and hissed in NewKitty's face. (I am about ten times heavier than Sapphirethecat and I can tell you that witnessing him hissing is a frightening sight, reminiscent of a brown furry Mafioso cobra.)
At about that point I heard a noise that sounded a bit like someone eating catbiscuits back in the kitchen. I did a quick head count, and decided that all the cats I was meant to be supervising were present and accounted for, either hissing or being hissed at. It did not take an MBA or a degree in physics to work out that someone else was indeed eating catbiscuits in the kitchen. All three of us hightailed it to the kitchen, yelping our heads off. And there was yet another cat, head down in Sapphire's supper bowl.
Momentarily united against a common enemy, the three of us charged at the intruder, who fled in the opposite direction out through the french doors to the porch (which I had left three inches open for some excellent but forgettable reason). Unfortunately, this moment of brotherhood and camaraderie only lasted about eight seconds, from the moment the first hiss was uttered to the departing flick of the grey tail of the catburglar as it vanished into the dark.
There was nothing for it. After touring the rest of the house to make sure that no other random animals could enter that night, I decided that NewKitty's freedom to roam had to be curtailed, at least temporarily, for the health and sanity of all concerned. For one thing, Sapphirethecat, who is a creature of delicate appetite, would end up with no food at all at this rate. So I went to bed, putting NewKitty in my sitting room downstairs to discourage any nocturnal roamings. Or so I thought.
1am Scratching at the door. Then thumping. Repeated. Harder, more determined thumping. Bedroom door (which had been firmly closed) springs open. NewKitty triumphantly marches in. I get up. Put NewKitty back in the sitting room. Shut sitting room doors. Shut bedroom door. Barricade it with a suitcase. Return to bed.
4am. Wake to thumping and rattling noise. Repeated. Continues for ten minutes. Stops.
4.30am Thumping and rattling start again. Realize that someone is hurling themselves repeatedly against the sitting room doors.
5am Thumping and rattling once more. Can't stand it.
5.25am Argh.
5.45 am Going mad.
7am AAAAAARGH.
TODAY IN NUMBERS
Cats vigorously encouraged to spend the day outdoors roaming the woods - 1
Calls to local newspapers with classified Found Cat departments - 3
Laminated colour copies of Found Cat posters made by Kinkos - 5
Number of senior Darden administrators who stopped their cars to enquire why I was messing around with Stop signs - 1
Number of cats dining from Sapphirethecat's supper bowl this evening - 1
Tolerance of any cat that keeps me awake for one millisecond with thumping on door tonight -0% (early flight to Philly tomorrow....)
Destination of any cat that indulges in thumping on door behavior tonight - the green plastic tarpauline over the woodpile in the yard.
Talking of which, I was a little disappointed to learn that the sports that are going to be nearest me in Regent's Park if London gets the Olympics and if I still have my flat by then, are
1) baseball
2) softball
3) road cycling.
Not exactly bodice rippers, eh? And even then we might not have 1) or 2), because they are - deservedly many including me might say - finally on the IOC list of sports for future elimination.
My only hope is that someone decides that having 6,000 people jam onto Horseguards Parade for the beach volleyball competition, only 50 yards from the prime minister's front door, might be too much of a security risk, and it gets relocated.
* * *
This weekend, LandladyLynn went off to a corporate junket in a place called The Forest in South Carolina. It sounds a cross between Camp David and Bohemian Grove (for more details on Bohemian Grove, see Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City...). Among the delights The Forest had to offer were turkey hunting - funny how that keeps cropping up - quail shooting, golf, and then - for the ladies, a sightseeing tour of Charleston. I tried for days to persuade her that she should not be constricted by old fashioned sexist notions about ladylike pursuits, but Charleston apparently it was.
Anyway, I digress. The point about all this was, that this weekend I was on triple cat duty. As if an increasingly bouncy and Tigger-ish NewKitty and an increasingly sulky and uncooperative Sapphirethecat were not enough to deal with, this week Boston Kate and family are in Florida and I had long ago volunteered to look after their Zephyr, le chat extraordinaire. Zephyr is a most apt name for this beast, as he has this tendency to howl through a house at gale force, scattering cat biscuits, litter crumbs and cardboard box shreds as he goes.
Knowing that Sapphirethecat (who in every aspect apart from looks bears a striking similiarity to Marlon Brando) would likely explode at the sight of a single additional alien paw on his territory, I was happy to keep Zephyr at BostonKate's house on the other side of the mountain in Keswick, and commute between the two locales. Returning home from an exhausting pitch black pursuit around the garden trying to bring in Zephyr last night, however, I was unprepared for what awaited me when I returned home.
Up till now, NewKitty has had enough sense to steer clear of Sapphirethecat's territory, particularly the sacred supper dish. But last night, all sense of selfpreservation seemed to have deserted him: he was scoffing Sapphire's cat biscuits. Sapphirethecat was not pleased. I took an executive decision to remove NewKitty to the sitting room for his own safety. But Sapphire not only followed, but he walked up and hissed in NewKitty's face. (I am about ten times heavier than Sapphirethecat and I can tell you that witnessing him hissing is a frightening sight, reminiscent of a brown furry Mafioso cobra.)
At about that point I heard a noise that sounded a bit like someone eating catbiscuits back in the kitchen. I did a quick head count, and decided that all the cats I was meant to be supervising were present and accounted for, either hissing or being hissed at. It did not take an MBA or a degree in physics to work out that someone else was indeed eating catbiscuits in the kitchen. All three of us hightailed it to the kitchen, yelping our heads off. And there was yet another cat, head down in Sapphire's supper bowl.
Momentarily united against a common enemy, the three of us charged at the intruder, who fled in the opposite direction out through the french doors to the porch (which I had left three inches open for some excellent but forgettable reason). Unfortunately, this moment of brotherhood and camaraderie only lasted about eight seconds, from the moment the first hiss was uttered to the departing flick of the grey tail of the catburglar as it vanished into the dark.
There was nothing for it. After touring the rest of the house to make sure that no other random animals could enter that night, I decided that NewKitty's freedom to roam had to be curtailed, at least temporarily, for the health and sanity of all concerned. For one thing, Sapphirethecat, who is a creature of delicate appetite, would end up with no food at all at this rate. So I went to bed, putting NewKitty in my sitting room downstairs to discourage any nocturnal roamings. Or so I thought.
1am Scratching at the door. Then thumping. Repeated. Harder, more determined thumping. Bedroom door (which had been firmly closed) springs open. NewKitty triumphantly marches in. I get up. Put NewKitty back in the sitting room. Shut sitting room doors. Shut bedroom door. Barricade it with a suitcase. Return to bed.
4am. Wake to thumping and rattling noise. Repeated. Continues for ten minutes. Stops.
4.30am Thumping and rattling start again. Realize that someone is hurling themselves repeatedly against the sitting room doors.
5am Thumping and rattling once more. Can't stand it.
5.25am Argh.
5.45 am Going mad.
7am AAAAAARGH.
TODAY IN NUMBERS
Cats vigorously encouraged to spend the day outdoors roaming the woods - 1
Calls to local newspapers with classified Found Cat departments - 3
Laminated colour copies of Found Cat posters made by Kinkos - 5
Number of senior Darden administrators who stopped their cars to enquire why I was messing around with Stop signs - 1
Number of cats dining from Sapphirethecat's supper bowl this evening - 1
Tolerance of any cat that keeps me awake for one millisecond with thumping on door tonight -0% (early flight to Philly tomorrow....)
Destination of any cat that indulges in thumping on door behavior tonight - the green plastic tarpauline over the woodpile in the yard.
posted by alranson | 8:04 PM
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