Ten Minutes of Wild Kingdom.

 

 

Here we see the cat, standing at the door and wistfully looking outside.  He silently prays for me to set down the camera and use my thumbs to open the door for him.  In his mind, I am certain he is thinking about shredding the top of my Jeep in retribution for my complete lack of haste.  Soon, he will start his odd, little series of barks and whimpers, and when that is still met with inaction, he will heave a great sigh like a captured, defeated felon.

 

   Then, with the frustrated wail of a spoiled child in a toy-store, he appeals to me as if to demonstrate that the universe within which we live may very well shred itself to pieces should I refuse to open the door.   

 

    Eventually, I give in to his tantrum and accept the fact that this beast will probably never be content to simply stay indoors and make me jealous by sleeping on the couch.  So, I open the door and grant him the breath of freedom he so desperately craves.  I expect him to go flying into the wilderness of the front yard with a wild, excited leap, but he simply steps out slowly, takes three steps and sits down to wash his paws which obviously had become soiled and filthy during his vast exodus from front door to front porch --a grueling journey of about four feet.  

 

    While he's having his little bath, I grab a cup of coffee and my curiosity leads me to follow him.  And, as if waiting for me, when I step onto the porch, he barks, walks down the steps and I follow him around to the backyard where he spots an unsuspecting shrub and decides to slink up to it.      

 

    

    I am amazed by his instinctive predatory skills as he moves slowly upon the unsuspecting tuft of decorative grass.  For a moment, I find myself wanting to scream.  I need to warn this tuft ofvegetation that its life is in danger.  But,I remain silent.  This is life inside the foodchain of my backyard, and I must not interfere with way of nature.  The cat will only attack the slow and the sick of the herd of grass that makes up the lawn; thus, insuring a stronger backyard in the future. 

 

    As an observer of nature, I must remain neutral in this never-ending battle for survival.  Many times, as a part of its natural defenses, I've watched the tuft of decorative grass use its camoflage in order to appear as a boring piece of lanscape foliage, thus baffling the cat to the point that it loses interest.

 

 

    Unfortunately, as it is caught unaware, and with no time to react to the cat's presence, the foliage is quickly overcome and soon captured within the sharp claws and biting fangs of the cat. 

    

     Yes.  It is a gruesome display, but who am I to question the way of nature?  I am merely here to document the eternal struggle for survival which exists between Cat and Tuft of Decorative Grass.  It is a struggle as old as the backyard itself.  The mighty Cat and Tuft of Grass have been locked in this battle since man first planted Tuft of Grass in the backyard.  

 

 

 

    Here we see the cat, having completely overtaken the unfortunate tuft of decorative grass, now perched in a regal display of triumph and backyard supremacy.  It is at this time that the observer must be very cautious as the cat is very protective of his recently captured prey, and a simple swipe of the razor-sharp claws can easily give the perceived usurper a nasty scratch that could very-well get infected.

 

    Yes.  I am afraid.  But, my fear is lessened by the fact that I am documenting one of the genuine wonders of the backyard animal kindom. 

 

    Unforuntately, as I approached the cat, the wind suddenly shifted as it often does upon the backyard, and the cat caught wind of me.  And, as he realized the presence of opposable thumbs in the area, cat stepped away from his recent catch and ran toward the back door to whine and wail in demand to be let in from the wild. 

 

 

    Fortunately, I was able to capture one final picture of the cat as he abandoned the defeated tuft of decorative grass.  I then followed the cat into the kitchen where my thumbs were put to good use by opening a can of Trout Feast.  There are no fish upon the stark, open space of the backyard, and apparently, the cat was in the mood for seafood. 

 

 

-DP

Milwaukee Expedition: 2006