Be the solution

True to genetics and my heritage, I’m becoming a mad cat lady. Okay, it’s just two cats, and one is only visiting with Roxy while she’s home for the summer, but even the best eccentrics have to start somewhere.

Clearly I have a way to go, as my mother had more than 30 cats in her prime. I should probably explain: they were not technically her cats, they were fostered for a cat rescue society who blackmailed her into taking them…

Oh you’ve got all that land that would be perfect for cat pens“, they said…

We’ll have to put them all down if you won’t take them“, they said…

Do you want the deaths of all those innocent cats on your conscience?“, they said. (I may have made this last bit up, but it was certainly what they were thinking, and definitely what they implied.)

And that is how my parents found themsleves unexpectedly awash with cats – much to the dismay of my poor, patient, indulgent father.

But, to get back to my own cat situation, one of the most distressing parts of the feline presence is the hunting. I know, I know, it’s what cats are supposed to do … but as one of the cats is a tiny princess and the other is the size of a pony I honestly thought the small creatures of the neighbourhood could rest safe.

As it turns out, the local rodents actually are quite safe, because both cats are bringing a steady stream of live mice into the house and depositing them to frolic wherever they fancy. Apparently it’s a win-win; the cats get live-in playmates and the mice get nice cushy digs out of the elements. And we get to lie abed and listen to the joyful mews of cats shrieking “ready or not, here I come” (translated for you from the feline), and then enjoy a front row seat for the chase around our bedroom.

Now I may have this wrong, but I though cats were supposed to help solve a mouse problem, not create one.

My solution has been to lock the cats inside at suppertime. It’s a good system, because they’re not keen enough on their nightly jaunts to forego their dinner; but it does mean we have to endure them pacing like caged lions all evening, and throwing me filthy looks. Worth it in the balance, I think.


My Fearless Protector

I have written before about my rather pathetic, and completely fearful dog, but this week she has excelled herself.

Before going on, I should explain that she has a doggy door which leads out onto a platform in the side yard, from which she then has to jump down about 3 feet to the ground.

I have noticed in the last few days that she has been standing on this platform, barking like a mad thing, which is unusual. Normally she goes out into the back yard and tears up and down barking ferociously at passing dogs, secure in the knowledge that they are safely the other side of a dog-proof fence.

So why is she staying up in the side yard? It turns out a coyote has been frequenting the park just behind our house. Clearly this is not something that can be tolerated and she feels the need to deliver a loud and persistent warning. But, not wanting to get carried away by bravado, she apparently decided to deliver the warning from the safety of her platform. That way, if necessary, she can bid a hasty retreat to the safety of her mummy’s protection.

They say it’s good to get a big dog for protection. How’s that supposed to work, again?

Marvin The Terrible

My home is being terrorized by a creature so awful that it even strikes fear into the heart of our intrepid guard dog, Megs.

We’ve been plagued by this horror, intermittently, for years now.

It might stay awake for weeks at a time, but its return always presages a day of cowering and abuse for poor Megs.  The abuse, I might add, is accidental and if she’d spend less time glued to my legs she’d also spend less time getting tripped over and shut in doors.

The beast is called Marvin.  He’s a woodpecker.

woodpecker pic

Marvin sits on our roof pecking all day on the metal chimney flue.  Goodness knows what Megs thinks it is, but the sound of beak on metal reverberating through the house leaves her paralyzed with terror.

Why does Marvin do this?  Can he honestly think our chimney is a tree?  We’re not sure, but I’m fairly certain he can’t still be expecting a bug.  I suppose it could be some sort of amplified mating ritual, but I have a strong suspicion that tormenting Megs is how the local woodpecker delinquents get their kicks.

I like to feel that Megs would rush fearlessly to my defense against intruders, marauders or even a zombie apocalypse.  But everyone has their limits and arboreally challenged woodpeckers, apparently, is hers.