Well, we’re gone now and I am internet slumming at the public library to bring this cat blog to you on this fine New Zealand Saturday.
In the days before we moved, Jake was thoughtful enough to pull the trigger on something we’d been talking about for a long time– making me a cat trap.
“The only trap I really know how to make is a deadfall,” Jake mused, “but I guess we don’t want a crushed cat.”
Eager to snare or at least trick a neighborhood cat, I let my kitty-imagination take over, in place of the part of my brain usually reserved for cat safety.
Jake very thoughtfully located the trap where we could easily watch it from our bedroom window. I was excited to think of a cat actually coming over to the sardines, slowly sniffing them, taking a tentative bite….but when I thought back on the montage of great and sometimes ugly cats that I’d come to know on Passmore Crescent, I began to worry about trapping them in a box, especially overnight. And so, though it made Ken laugh at me when he heard, the cat trap turned into more of an open cardboard box full of sardines that the flies would come to enjoy.
But cats came as well! We just didn’t trap them. They were secrets.
Jake and I discussed that for me, perhaps the best cat trap of all is one where I put out a bowl of fish and just sit really quietly next to it or maybe the bowl of fish is in my lap and the I can just pet the cats all day.
Being-thoughtful-about-cats-ness must run in the family. Jake’s Baltimore-dwelling, more awesome than I thought was possible, law-loving, cool-earring-wearing sister sent this gem in yesterday. I’m not quite sure what to call it, but all I know is that I like what I see.
The end. FOR NOW.