Fancy Feast

Last night Ken bought a can of catfood for use in making an alcohol stove. I felt tricked, however, because he told me it was so I could set out some cat-bait in the garden. Well, being the kind young bearded man that he is, Jake put the catfood out on the back brick wall in a little glass dish, along with some pork scraps from the boys’ carnivorous dinner, making sure to place it so I could watch it dilligently from our bedroom. The trap was set.

I kept checking it all evening, to no avail, and when Jake suggested that I could set up a little cot by the window and train a flashlight periodically on the cat-trap below all night, I let out a scream that was just a bit too genuine and, upon subsequently gauging the startled Jake/Ken reaction, my eyes welled up with tears of equal realness. Jake later commented that “the only thing worse than going into hysterics over seeing Night Cats is crying afterwards. Makes you look crazy.”

This morning, feeling as though I’d been punted from the last remains of my gentle weekend slumber, I slouched downstairs in the dawn’s early light and found my bearded companion making coffee in the kitchen, his eyes kind and excited for me. “Guess what?” he said.

The cats had come! It was just like Christmas. The dish was, as Jake noted, “picked clean”.

I’m hoping it was this guy.

[Sighting: Maori Hill, Dunedin, NZ]

It’s probably a stretch, as he’d have to walk about three blocks up to get to the garden, crossing a very scary road en route, but it could happen. What a treat.

Jake and I spotted him coming home early Thursday evening, the sun glinting through his mounds of hair. We successfully lured him out of his yard (LOOK AT HIM TRUCK TOWARDS US)…

And Jake snapped this photo of me petting/trapping it, looking like that time I had toast crumbs all over my mouth and I lifted my gaze to meet Quinn’s and I said, “I’m crazy!” and meant it.

Spiraling out of control.

But whatever. I may have started this cat blog (clog) with a certain amount of self-deprecating humor, and inside-joke with myself if you will, but I’m getting more serious about it by the day. It’s giving me somewhere to put all this nervous energy. Jake says I fall asleep faster since I started this project.

Maybe before it gets better it needs to get a little worse.


About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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