Carl the Cranky and Tabby Tom: Part Three

In which we receive a call for aid from one once thought an enemy, and read how the neighborhood rallies to help .

Part One and Part Two can be read first, if you like.

Life and the Universe are strange things. Sometimes they suprise you. I'm inclined to believe this is a good thing.

It was a summer weekend; Friday perhaps, or Saturday, about twilight. The spousal unit was out of town, so I was alone in the house with the cats. Although I do love the man and his company, I also look forward to these weekends when I have the house to myself. I look forward to pizza and old Dr. Who episodes, the small self indulgences from which I abstain most of the time. There would be one of those long, chocolate and wine baths at some point. Everyone needs a weekend away with themself now and again.

I was downstairs in the kitchen, happily chatting away via text with my oldest daughter, about this and that, when "BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!" came a demanding knock on the door, loud enough to make me jump out of my seat, knocking over my glass of iced tea in the process.

Carl the Cranky and Tabby Tom: Part Two

Wherein we read of un-looked-for collaboration, suffer a shocking assault, and give chase to a pair of  scoundrels.

Sasha in Shadow

(Be advised, Dear and Gentle Reader, that this post is the second part of a tale, the telling of  which began last Monday with Carl the Cranky and Tabby Tom: Part One. )

Summer waned and gave place to the brilliance of Fall, who waned in her turn, stepping aside for the arrival of Winter. I, no less than the colony of cats, took a deep breath of appreciation when at last Spring, vigorous and green and full of bright life, waved a flowery handkerchief at old Winter and bid her be gone. It had been a cold and an uncomfortable three months. We welcomed the return of warm days and sunshine.

There is nothing more relaxing, nothing better for the unknotting of tensions that sneak in and settle about the head and shoulders, than to sit quietly and gaze at a cat who is sleeping in sunshine. This is a deep medecine. I suspect it is an ncient one, too,  for people have been watching cats for millenia. This particular spring I was happy enough to sit on the back deck, whenever I could, quiet and still. The cats would come, after a time, hunting their favorite patches of sunshine.

Advice From Our Friends

In which we discover an interesting suggestion regarding the care of our feline friends, and have a good, healthy belly laugh to boot.

As I continue my decade long liaison with the neighborhood alley cats, I am constantly in search of  any and all information that could potentially be of benefit to them. To this end, I read several lists and websites devoted to catly topics.

Some of the information I find is useful, some inspiring, some funny, some cathartic. As with all information gathererd by whatever means, I have to sift through it, picking out the good bits and discarding the bad. You shouldn't check your brain, after all, when you open your browser.

The other day, I was reading  feral_cats, a yahoo group to which I subscribe. It is devoted to helping feral and stray cats (they're not the same), and to providing support and information on Trap-Neuter-Return (TNR). One post I ran across soon had me laughing hysterically. The minute the spousal unit arrived home, I grabbed him.

"Listen to this," I said,

Carl the Cranky and Tabby Tom: Part One

In which we read of alliances formed and enemies revealed.


Handsome

 

When I'm in the bathtub, I confess I'm in another world. I hear nothing from the outside, see nothing, am aware of nothing. Bathtime is an indulgence, a break in the routine of morning showers undertaken daily for purposes of hygiene. A bath may indeed be hygienic, but it's so much more. Taking a bath merely for hygiene is like drinking a glass of Dom Perignon because you've been out working in the yard and need to re-hydrate. Baths for me usually involve candles and music, chocolate, incense, a book or two, and three, sometimes four hours of uninterrupted solitude. A bath is a cherished decadence, not to be undertaken lightly.

I'm pretty sure the building could all but fall down around me, during bathtime, and I would be none the wiser. So it was one evening that a great battle ensued on behalf of the cats, between their allies and neighbors on one hand, and a murderously angry Marine on the other. Threats were made; police were summoned. A small crowd gathered in my alley for the fray while I, deep into the pleasures of hot water and bubbles, bathed obliviously on. I had no idea a veritable riot was underway outside my back gate. It happened in this wise.