A Bird In the Hand

Birdbrain

Calling someone "birdbrain" is an insult for low intelligence.  There is a reason for this expression.  Two days ago an errant woodpecker (a hairy or a downy) flew into our garage.  Bad mistake.  The bird cruised around the rafters, totally ignoring the fact that we had the door Wide Open and he/she could fly down and out with ease.
No such luck.
I called the Audubon Society who suggested that we tie some cloth or paper to a long pole and try to scare him into flying down and then taking a broom and whisking him out.
No such luck.
This morning, bird was still in garage.  Two our of three cats made an escape and both or them immediately realized: Loose bird in garage!  The older one lost interest, but the mostly grown kitten thought "cat toy!" and climbed into the rafters, stalking the bird.  At one point, he flew low and before I could wield the broom, he swooped up again.  Dumber than dirt.  Kitten refused to be dissuaded.  We had errands to run, dentist appt., etc., so left kitten in the garage with food, water and litter.  When we returned home, she was asleep on the floor next to the litter, and the bird was still, have you guessed it yet?  Up on the rafters.
Dragged kitten into house.  Did she even want back into garage!  She finally fell asleep on her window perch.  A few hours later I shut the garage door again.
Checked later and did not hear/see woodpecker.  He is either skulking, dead or finally figured it out.  We put some water out for him.
Garage is full of son's belonging, a huge mess, if you will, with "stuff" all over the floor.  Rafters full of broken window screens and  oldposters, tires, lots of crap.  Plenty of places for a bird to hide.

I am worried about the poor critter and annoyed that it has, well, a birdbrain.  Life in suburbia has its little dramas.  Baby bunny on the lawn.  More cat toys.  Cat seems exhausted.

So am I.

Grapeshot

A report on the cats

Missed Cat Blog Day on Friday.  I have been gardening, swanning to the Cape and the Berkshires, cooking every tomato recipe in the repertoire and finding agents to query for the Burning Man book, Festival Madness. 

By and large, the cats are cool.  The orange cat is very cool, eating well, looking out the window, shedding all over the Calvin Klein down duvet, and wondering why the black and gold cat with the big stomach continues to give him the stink eye.  He gives her a pretty wide berth.  Usually.  

Said black and gold is cool unless the orange cat gets in her face.  A few days ago he wanted to play and made chasing motion, which set her off in a tizzy of hissing.  Sometimes she is caught eating his food and slinks off (guiltily) when reprimanded. 


Nonetheless, life is CAT is pretty calm.  Good birdwatching from the living room window, and chipmunk watching from the kitchen window.  Many places to nap.  Eats of schedule.  Plenty of petting.  What's not to like?

My Mistress with the Enemy Cat

Can you believe it?  All this blather about people food that a cat wouldn't deign to sniff?  Peach Pie?  Fie!
Even more blather about baby birds (Yum) and summer and not a word about me and my tribulations.  In the dead of night, I find this totally dreadful, jealous-making photo on HER commuter.  HER with my rival, getting cozy while I pursue innocent sleep. 

What's a wrong cat to do?  I took my revenge by making a mess in the litter box.  'Nuff said.


The Interloper was in HER bedroom, on HER bed.  Does she think I can't smell?  It's Sunday morning and I only got perfunctory mommy-kitty time.

It may be summer, but the days are dark.

My Mistress with The Enemy

Thisbe
Author of The Catnip Chronicles

An Early Morning Hiss: the Catfrontation

In the doghouse this morning, due to a catfrontation with the Orange Outrage at 4:30 a.m.  I chased him back to his quarters, but woke up my master and mistress in the process.  Mistress was pissed and most unforgiving, but she did pet me.  I went onto the front porch and scouted for chipmunks, but didn't find any.  Begged for treats and didn't get any.  Sometimes, life in this household really sucks.

I can't encounter The Interloper without a hiss and a growl.  My mistress always tries to calm me, but I am psyched to chase this cat all the way to hell and back.  The girl can't help it.

All the adrenaline and excitement has made my coat softer and shinier.  Must be the exercise.  Well, a cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do.     My mistress insists on posting another photo of the Interloper.  What can she be thinking?