Sunrise, Cats, a Scare, and . . . Entrails
The sun's coming up much earlier than it used to. Cats are light-activated. This means that as the sun rises, so do Zeke and Sophie and--inevitably--so must I. Zeke in particular is very insistent that I must get-up get-up get-up to feed and play with him. This morning, instead of the constant meow-meow-meow of Zeke's morning serenade, I awakened naturally, with Sophie snuggling up to me and insisting on cuddles the way she used to before Zeke joined the household. It was a lovely interlude and I savored it because it so rarely happens anymore. The level of unusualness of this situation cannot be overemphasized, however. Where was Zeke?
I called for Zeke. I called for him again. No response. I panicked. Had he gotten caught between the bed and the wall and wrung his own neck? That was my first fear. The adrenalin kicked in. I called and called for him. No response. I grabbed a flashlight and looked under and around the bed. No Zeke. Just as I was going to the closet to see if I'd locked him in (except that I remembered him on the bed the night before), he came trotting into my bedroom and looked at me as if to say, "What? Did you need something?" Naturally, I scooped him up and hugged him tight. He squirmed out of my arms and trotted into the kitchen. He is an evil beast.
But the tale's not done. I fed him and Sophie breakfast and then, instead of harassing me to play with him, he disappeared again. I read the internets in peace for a while, and then began to wonder what was going on. I wandered upstairs to find him in the cat tree in the living room. He was meatloaf-sitting at the top of the tree staring intently out the window. The view is of the roof that juts out over my downstairs neighbor's unit (along with a lot of trees). At the end of the roof is the gutter. A crow sat on the edge of the gutter pulling at what looks like a rodent carcass of some kind inside the gutter; I could only see bits sticking up over the edge (which was just fine by me). Sophie joined us at the window, and she looked slightly off to the right. I followed her gaze to discover a little pile of entrails about a foot from the window. Apparently some creature--a rat, a squirrel?--fell victim to some other creature--cat, raccoon? Who knows?
Zeke is still upstairs at the window. Sophie's down here with me, bathing in a patch of sunlight. The scare of maybe finding Zeke injured or worse has passed. The fact that he has a gruesome sort of entertainment both pleases me and freaks me out a little bit. But I must remember: I live with nocturnal predators. What entertains them will not necessarily entertain me. I can only hope but that we can find other ways to entertain each other.
Just not . . . with entrails. Ick.
I called for Zeke. I called for him again. No response. I panicked. Had he gotten caught between the bed and the wall and wrung his own neck? That was my first fear. The adrenalin kicked in. I called and called for him. No response. I grabbed a flashlight and looked under and around the bed. No Zeke. Just as I was going to the closet to see if I'd locked him in (except that I remembered him on the bed the night before), he came trotting into my bedroom and looked at me as if to say, "What? Did you need something?" Naturally, I scooped him up and hugged him tight. He squirmed out of my arms and trotted into the kitchen. He is an evil beast.
But the tale's not done. I fed him and Sophie breakfast and then, instead of harassing me to play with him, he disappeared again. I read the internets in peace for a while, and then began to wonder what was going on. I wandered upstairs to find him in the cat tree in the living room. He was meatloaf-sitting at the top of the tree staring intently out the window. The view is of the roof that juts out over my downstairs neighbor's unit (along with a lot of trees). At the end of the roof is the gutter. A crow sat on the edge of the gutter pulling at what looks like a rodent carcass of some kind inside the gutter; I could only see bits sticking up over the edge (which was just fine by me). Sophie joined us at the window, and she looked slightly off to the right. I followed her gaze to discover a little pile of entrails about a foot from the window. Apparently some creature--a rat, a squirrel?--fell victim to some other creature--cat, raccoon? Who knows?
Zeke is still upstairs at the window. Sophie's down here with me, bathing in a patch of sunlight. The scare of maybe finding Zeke injured or worse has passed. The fact that he has a gruesome sort of entertainment both pleases me and freaks me out a little bit. But I must remember: I live with nocturnal predators. What entertains them will not necessarily entertain me. I can only hope but that we can find other ways to entertain each other.
Just not . . . with entrails. Ick.