A Reminiscence
A few months ago, before our Dear Dad went to heaven, there
was an incident recorded in the annals of cat history. Only it never made it
into my diary because a certain Mummy failed to do her job.
Never fear, dear
friends, I have dredged up the past and posted it here for your perusal, in the
hopes that we may all learn a valuable lesson.
[Or at least get a good laugh!]
So here it is:
Morgan and I were partners in crime this day, and it was
delicious fun.
The weather was lovely, what with clear skies and sunshine
and a light, fluffy breeze – oh, and there was a bird chirping. So Mummy opened
the windows…
In our bedroom (the one we let Mummy and Dad share with us),
there are windows.
On the outside of what we will call Window #1 is a screen.
Did you know (we didn’t…er, that is until we did) that when
you push your nose up against this screen in collusion with a junior fellow (in
this case Baby Morgan), the screen of the second part will fall out of said
Window (#1)?
And did you further know that there is a whacking great chasm
below Window #1, at the bottom of which lies a rose bush with all over
prickles?
Well, there is.
Thankfully, before one gets to the chasm part there is a nice
brick ledge, and it is onto this we ventured to step. Looking ‘round for unseen
Mummy’s, we delighted in our new-found freedom – smelling the Great Outdoors,
the fragrances on the breeze, the roses…
Being the grand adventurers we gray fellows are well-reputed
to be, we dared to get nearly half our bodies onto that ledge (I know – many
would not dare go half so far), creeping slowly so as not to slip and land on a
thorn. About the time we were settling
into our big feat of escape, who would spy us staring down into the chasm from outside, of all directions, but Mummy!
That’s right - so far from a rear attack, she outmaneuvered us and came up on
our flank.
Well, Morgan’s actually, because I was on the other side of him.
Still, the salient point is that just as we were mere seconds
from pulling off the prison break of the century, Mummy pointed at us and
demanded our immediate withdrawal into the house. I duly made a U-turn back to
the dreary confines of home life while Morgan, being young and inexperienced,
hesitated, uncertain if Mummy meant him, too. Based on her reaction to his
apparent belligerence, Morgan realized that she did, indeed, mean him, too.
What she did not know, what she was vapidly uninformed about,
was that there was in fact another escapee in our party – one Poppet, hereby
known as The Spotted Bloke.
After our capture and arrest, Morgan and I went about the
business of settling in for a long Spring’s nap, dreaming of ledge-walking and
other feats of derring-do. Dad would not be home from his weekly business trip
for several hours, and Mummy was busy at her desk.
All was quiet.
Finally Dad arrived, well after dark, and the household sprang
to life - everyone excited to check out the new smells Dad always brings back
with him. All except Mummy, who doesn’t seem to be interested in smells.
Anyway…
After pawing at Dad and getting my daily drink (which, once
again, I went without for several days), we all collected on the sofa to listen
to Mummy and Dad talk. Oh, the joy of hearing your parents’ voices, the
soothing calm of knowing all is right with the world.
Until, of course, Dad asked the burning question, “Where is Poppet?”
Mummy gave a blank stare. Morgan and I gave each other a
knowing look then pretended to wash our faces. Humdy, humdy, hum…
It occurred to Mummy at that moment what had transpired in
the Great Window Escapade:
Augustus and Morgan were mere decoys, allowing The
Spotted Bloke to make his getaway undetected.
No wonder we were looking downward
into the chasm when she spied us, she declared.
Immediately our parents were outside with flashlights,
hollering his name everywhere:
“Poppet!”
Poppppee-eeettt!”
“Poppett?”
[Side note: perhaps, on reflection, it would have been wiser
to name him Fluffy or something – who could have known THAT name would have to
shouted into the echoing darkness one April evening? How embarrassing!]
They returned, discussing a Spotted Bloke sighting – he had
darted from the shrubbery (his apparent new lair) for fear of his life on
seeing dark figures with headlights coming at him and calling his name.
Now he was
impossible to catch, disappearing in and out of the hedges as they pursued him.
After several jaunts out of various doors, Mummy and Dad determined to call it
quits for the night since The Spotted Bloke was an apparent nitwit that hadn’t
a clue you go TOWARD your rescuers instead of away from them.
So off to bed we all went, I a bit gloatish that the center
of the bed would now be Poppet-less and therefore free pickings! I stretched
out luxuriously, settling into the down comforter with a sigh. This was going
to be a lovely night.
Just about the time we dozed off came a *SPLAT* against the
very window – you guessed it - from which we made our earlier escape! Mummy
glanced over in time to see Poppet sliding down the pane, his face squashed against the glass, onto the brick ledge beneath.
She jumped to the window and opened it as Poppet dangled from the ledge with
his front claws, groping to get an extra leg or two back up there. He lost the
struggle and fell to the ground, barely missing that prickly rose bush. Mummy
called to him but he was certain it was all her fault so ran like mad around
the deck to get away from that Crazy Person in the Window (his remarks, not
mine).
Back outside went the flashlights, trailing a sleepy Dad and
Mummy in their wake, but no sign of The Spotted Bloke was to be seen anywhere. Dad
made an executive decision to let The Spotted Bloke stay out if he wished.
After all, he is a grown cat, 4 years old, and can make his own decisions, said
he.
Such excitement made it hard to get back to sleep but after
many minutes, I was able to doze, if fitfully (worry that I might have to give
up my extra legroom in the bed should The Spotted Bloke return made it
impossible to sleep deeply).
Eventually the house became a quiet symphony of
snoring cats.
Then…
*scratch*
ScRatCh*
*SCRAaaTCH!!!!*
Beyond a doubt The Spotted Bloke had made his return, this
time attempting a more civil route – the back door. It was nearly 4:30 a.m.; Mummy
dragged her sleepy self into the kitchen, opened the door and called him in.
After a few dizzying bobs of his head, as if to confirm that there was not an
invisible pane of glass there as well, The Spotted Bloke dashed over the threshold and scurried
into the opposite end of the house, looking neither to the right nor the left
but steadfast in his determination to get as far away as possible from any
openings into the Wild World beyond.
The Spotted Bloke finally worked his way into the bedroom and
settled into bed with us, me half-grudgingly giving back my short-lived extra
space (I was, after all, glad he wasn’t eaten by some Creature of the Night –
that would not have been pleasant, I am sure). About 5 minutes later it was
time to get up and start another day.
Taken all in all, we had quite an adventure but I think from
now on we will stick to hanging over the stair ledges instead of the window
ledge. And for some reason, The Spotted
Bloke has been avoiding bedroom Window #1. I invited him to sit with me there to
watch the blue jay in the pear tree this morning but he turned and ran.
Strange fellow.
Yet we do have a fun memory of the time we almost escaped!
Won’t it be something to tell the old grandkids one day?
Except, of course, I haven’t any grandkids.
Still, great fun though!
