.
Every so often, a sound like a bird chirp came from nowhere in particular. At first I thought it was coming from the internet, but experimentation ruled this out. I went into the other room a couple of times, waiting for the sound (at very wide intervals). Finally, I looked for the cat. Frances was in high-fascination mode, her hindquarters projecting from under the red chair. Then she raced, and I saw something else racing as well. If it was a bird, it was a road runner. Anyway, it wasn't flying. I mentally discarded most of my hard-won bird-in-house experience and lore.
Frances and I were on the case. It ran to the really, really junky end of the living room floor where Sarah's Miscellaneous file is. I got a stick and poked through stuff, but nothing small and brown erupted. I went upstairs and retrieved a mouse trap from the kitchen. I tested the ancient peanut butter bait — still apparently viable: another possibly disturbing fact for later.
In the next round of activity, signalled by another urgent chirp, I found that our intruder was a little ground squirrel. This made me want to be even easier on it if possible, but didn't change the overall plan. I finally wised up and closed as many doors as I was sure I didn't want the thing to run through, then opened the front door and went back into bush-beating mode, trying not to cramp Frances's style, since this was her quarry.
There was one more burst of activity in which all three participants were on the move. Then nobody knew where the squirrel was. I didn't see it run up the stairs, and neither (apparently) did Frances, but things have been pretty quiet since then. I gave Frances extra congratulations. When I went in the garage to get lunch out of the freezer, she dashed through the door (the same door that was accidentally left open this morning, possibly making it possible for a small squirrel to go from the garage into the house). I let her snoop around a bit, since she was a hero cat.
When I ate, I had it out in the sun room, and Frances joined me. She wanted to sit in a window where the blinds came about two inches from the sill. Desire was clearly stamped upon her muscles as she yearned toward it, pulled back, plotted a course, then leaped pretty much straight through a slit smaller than herself and posed proudly in the window, as cats are meant to do.
Afterward, I cleaned up the sunroom, sweeping, vacuuming, taking out some large boxes that have been there for the last two or three years, and arranging everything else just so. I'd been dithering over getting back to the gym — stomach's been a tad bit off — and today I gave myself permission to clean up instead, so that's okay.
.
Every so often, a sound like a bird chirp came from nowhere in particular. At first I thought it was coming from the internet, but experimentation ruled this out. I went into the other room a couple of times, waiting for the sound (at very wide intervals). Finally, I looked for the cat. Frances was in high-fascination mode, her hindquarters projecting from under the red chair. Then she raced, and I saw something else racing as well. If it was a bird, it was a road runner. Anyway, it wasn't flying. I mentally discarded most of my hard-won bird-in-house experience and lore.
Frances and I were on the case. It ran to the really, really junky end of the living room floor where Sarah's Miscellaneous file is. I got a stick and poked through stuff, but nothing small and brown erupted. I went upstairs and retrieved a mouse trap from the kitchen. I tested the ancient peanut butter bait — still apparently viable: another possibly disturbing fact for later.
In the next round of activity, signalled by another urgent chirp, I found that our intruder was a little ground squirrel. This made me want to be even easier on it if possible, but didn't change the overall plan. I finally wised up and closed as many doors as I was sure I didn't want the thing to run through, then opened the front door and went back into bush-beating mode, trying not to cramp Frances's style, since this was her quarry.
There was one more burst of activity in which all three participants were on the move. Then nobody knew where the squirrel was. I didn't see it run up the stairs, and neither (apparently) did Frances, but things have been pretty quiet since then. I gave Frances extra congratulations. When I went in the garage to get lunch out of the freezer, she dashed through the door (the same door that was accidentally left open this morning, possibly making it possible for a small squirrel to go from the garage into the house). I let her snoop around a bit, since she was a hero cat.
When I ate, I had it out in the sun room, and Frances joined me. She wanted to sit in a window where the blinds came about two inches from the sill. Desire was clearly stamped upon her muscles as she yearned toward it, pulled back, plotted a course, then leaped pretty much straight through a slit smaller than herself and posed proudly in the window, as cats are meant to do.
Afterward, I cleaned up the sunroom, sweeping, vacuuming, taking out some large boxes that have been there for the last two or three years, and arranging everything else just so. I'd been dithering over getting back to the gym — stomach's been a tad bit off — and today I gave myself permission to clean up instead, so that's okay.
.