Mia was running with me on leash the other day when a gnarly German shepherd came bolting at us from across the street. It was a typical freaky dog attack—growling and barking at us with the hair on its neck all ruffled up. Before I could even conjure my imaginary karate skills, a huge Suburban screeched to a halt, plowing right into the poor mutt. A strange mixture of shock and relief washed over me. I truly don’t enjoy seeing animals get hurt, but this particular situation was oddly satisfying. Mia and I didn’t even turn around to assess the damage. We just kept on running while reciting a prayer of “Thank you Lord for not allowing us to DIE today.”
Other news on the home front is that Sherri and I are, once again, caring for three little kittens that crawled into our yard. This is the second time we’ve done volunteer kitty foster care. It’s all because of that same old hussy, Momma cat that roams around the apartments and poops in our yard. I’ve thought several times about trying to catch her so the Humane Society can get her fixed. She’s just too dag gone wild to let anyone get close to her. Apparently, once a cat gets used to freedom and mice, there’s no going back to Kitty Chow and laser pointers.
However, now that Momma knows we have her kittens, she’s been snooping around our house planning a rescue operation. I saw my golden opportunity and staged a trap with the kittens holed up in the back of a portable dog kennel. A bunch of kids from the apartments saw what I was doing and started setting up shop on the other side of the fence to watch. I overheard one boy say, “Neighbor dude’s gonna try and catch Geronimo.” While cracking open a soda, a girl responds, “Oh, this ought to be good.”
As soon as Momma cat took the bait and peeked her head into the kennel, I threw a blanket over her. Unfortunately, Geronimo not only weaseled her way out from my grasp, but also managed to snatch one of the kittens all at the same time. The kids cheered me on as I went huffing across the parking lot in pursuit. After cornering Momma into a fence, she dropped the kitten and ran off. I made a second attempt awhile later after she returned, but still came up empty handed. The story will continue as soon as I scrounge up a live trap. To Be Continued.
We’ve named the kittens Bilbo, Froto, and Gandolf, but I’m starting to call the big one Smudge. He carries himself with a bold legged stance like a linebacker and has the fur of a polar bear. Smudge is also the only one brave enough to spar with Mia. I think we’ve found our puppy a playmate.
