Restless Cat Syndrome

September 7, 2016 at 10:04 am (Sweet sticky things)

With all the upheaval in our pet world, I am happy to report that things are settling down. I think everyone is getting used to each other.

The one who’s had issues the longest is the patriarch cat, our furry leader of leaders in the great outdoors, Django.

Daddy's Chair

Daddy’s Chair

Django didn’t like The Puppy one bit. He took a sniff and was over the fence. The other cats, indoor cats dumb as a stump (Not you, Neptune. RIP) learned quickly to get out of the way. Sandy, the Auntie with a bottle in this southern play, sits back and observes quietly.

As summer ended, with a cleaned-out yard, I began having post-midnight barbecues. I’d sit outside, watching the rerun of the baseball game through the window, cooking by TV-light. As I sat there noodling on my harmonica and smoking a joint, look who comes up, not asking permission to come aboard, he just leapt. Oof, fifteen pounds of surly tomcat in my lap.

At first it was a little awkward, like fiercely hetero guys hugging, but he settled in, and once I learned not to “restrain” him by holding him a certain way, we were good. We would meet every night out in the yard.

Puppy’s arrival meant puppy-training. She’s been very good about learning, and waiting until we go outside, etc… She really likes the backyard, and after dark, with the big humans? Oh glory be! The digging is so much sweeter without those stinging bumblethings flying around. I don’t barbecue in the backyard yet, but plenty of things get burnt.

The other evening, as I sat in the backyard with Niece and Sister and Luna, toking on a number and admiring the stars, we heard a crash at the new fence. Django, all fifteen pounds, had climbed up and over the six-foot-tall fence. He headed straight for my lap, and assumed the position. OOF! Hello, buddy.

Luna is always full of piss and vinegar, when she’s not sleeping on the bathroom floor like a Hee Haw dog. She approached Django, he watched warily, only fluffing and hissing when Luna got too close. We cuddled like two bros in the moonlight.

But that little fucking dog won’t leave us alone, said Django in his lost-patience voice. When Luna made her next approach, Django landed a well-placed left and Luna stepped right back. Message sent! Like Kayo with a walking stick, he bitch-slapped her so fast she never saw it coming.

Django and I are much too restless to sit still for any length of time, but I appreciate that he is reaching out to me, paying it upstairs, so to speak. He’s been with us a long time, coming and going. When Luna arrived he didn’t come into the house for a week. Last night when I came home he came in with me, and this morning he was sleeping in the middle of Sister’s bed. I guess the strike is over.

Luna is playing soccer with a plastic gallon milk jug, which means the whole house will be awake soon. At least we all got some sleep last night.

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