Varmit report
Yesterday was absolutely lovely and it didn't rain last night (which it had for 2 or 3 nights before.) As a result, many raccoons came by last night. Momma coon, the 3-legged coon, and Laughing Boy with his usual side kick. They all took turns so there was no ruckus. The food had run out when Laughing Boy came by and what caught my eye was a raccoon giving a big stretch up against the glass door. Them little hands almost reached to the door latch (and I'm wondering if that was what he was trying for....) As I approached, his merry little eyes gleamed with anticipation. Yep, that's Laughing Boy alright.
I went to bed early because I feel like I'm fighting getting ill. I had lots of dreams, the last one was some sort of crazy mix of Gillian's Island and WWII (the Pacific ampitheater) that segued into a police car chase. It turns out the sirens were supplied by a kitty war outside my window. I staggered out of my bed and out the door. Sweet Reg was just outside the door, making sure I knew *he* was being a good boy and wasn't apart of the unpleasantness, but wasn't it just so *exciting!* Scooter, my partially blind, toothless old cat was slinking about, saying "where is he? Just point me in the right direction and I'll gum him to death!" Brindle was the one who'd accosted the trespasser and was pleased to have some back up. The unfortunate strange cat ran for his life and Brindle only chased him to the border of the yard. The cats of Sweet Pea Manor had prevailed again.