A look to the left...
Yesterday, I figured I'd take advantage of the pleasant Sunday-morning breeze off the lake by grabbing a cup of fresh coffee and a good book which I've been meaning to get around to reading for several months now. And, once those two major tasks had been accomplished, I set my sights on the patio where a comfy chair sat in the shade. It was to be a deliciously silent morning; however, it wasn't long after I'd sat down that my peaceful moment began to unravel.
It started with DogCat's grumbling. "Mrrrrrg... Mrr. Erg."
"Hey, Dog." I said as I took a drink of my coffee before returning my attention to my book.
"Mrrrg." He said before jingling the collection of various tags that dangled from his collar.
I hung my hand beside my chair and stuck a lazy finger out to scratch his head. And, as he is wont to do, he promptly put my finger in his mouth and began to gnaw and cover it full of slobber.
Now that summer is here, when it comes to DogCat, I feel as though I am the owner of a roadside drive-thru. My morning ritual consists of making coffee before opening the curtains to see DogCat sitting on the windowsill. I proceed to let him in the front door, he runs to the kitchen, I open a can of food and feed him before stepping out the backdoor for a smoke while the coffee-maker does its thing and DogCat has his breakfast. After the morning smoke, I open the door, DogCat runs out issuing a perfunctory "Mrrrp" on his way, and I proceed to pour a cup of coffee and begin my day. Some days, that's all I see of him.
To him, I am just the guy who opens the front door which leads to the kitchen which leads to the back door which leads to FREEDOM!
A look to the right...
So, in light of the fact that this cat of mine felt kind enough to grace me with an appearance, I figured I'd give him a couple of scratches on his furry little head. Unfortunately, he wanted something else. I wanted to read, and he wanted to play. And, with a cat that large, this could only end one way: We will play, or I will lose some blood.
Now, one of the perks of the yard is that I have a veritable forest of catnip growing wild in a corner. In fact, this year, I have the kind of cash crop that would make a Columbian cat-drug cartel drool. And, if I am the Pablo Escobar of the world of kitty narcotics, DogCat is my hired muscle whose only real job is to keep the wandering, strung-out, feline junkies from sneaking onto my plantation to swipe bits and pieces of my "merchandise."
DogCat does a good job, and I, in turn, reward him very well.
Anyway, since I was more inclined to do some reading, I decided I'd get up and feed my cat's dependency. And, as I wandered over to retrieve a hunk of my crop, DogCat found a comfy spot off the patio in the shade of the lilac bushes. And, as I returned with my haul, he began his usual series of excited chattering and barking as if to say "Dude! I'm hurtin' here, man. Gimme what you're holdin'."
SCORE!Now, whenever he is confronted with a pile of catnip, DogCat, like every other junkie, goes through a strange ritual where he looks around over his shoulders to make sure there is no Five-O, narcs, or any other cats around to perhaps bogart his precious stash. DogCat doesn't share his weed.
After making sure the coast is clear, DogCat proceeds to get his nip on by eating a single leaf. Then, he will sit for a while as he appraises the quality of the catnip on his gums. If he's got some bunk weed, he'll just eat the whole stash and go to sleep.
On the other hand, if he's got some high quality stuff, he will just pounce on the collection of catnip, roll around, and descend into a world of unrestrained kitty madness. And, yesterday, I gave him some really good shit, apparently.
After his requisite quality check, DogCat arose with a bark and walked around behind the lilac bush to get a better eye on his nip. He crouched down and dug himself into the mulch to stare intently on his weed with his back end shaking.
He dove forward in a blur with his front paws stretched out before landing and sending mulch and woodchips scattering across the patio from beneath his bush. After that, it was pretty much a wild and rolling black, white, green smudge of teeth and claws and fur as he devoured his drugs. If you put a hand in there, you'd probably draw back a bloody stump as he doesn't know the difference and just doesn't care. That's the one track mind of a junkie, folks.
After eating all there is to eat of the stuff, you'd think the fun would be over. And, DogCat usually gives that impression as the chemicals work their way into his system and his eyes begin to grow heavy. But, as with most weed-heads, paranoia sets in, and my confused and addled cat will stare at a wood chip for several minutes. Then, he will reach out a paw and collect the wood chip to put the unruly thing in his mouth. Perhaps, in his little kitty mind, that wood chip is The Man, and he will gnaw and bat the thing around until it uncontrollably flies out of his reach. Then, he will sit for a little while before looking around to realize, "Holy crap! I'm in a friggin' mountain of woodchips! The Man is everywhere!"
From there, he just goes batshit crazy by smacking woodchips and sending them flying pretty much everywhere around the yard. Then, realizing he is hopelessly outnumbered, he will jolt out from beneath the bush and run straight up my apple tree to perch on a branch before the unripe apples start annoying him.
So, yesterday, a day that started off with a wonderful silence, I sat in my comfy chair reading my book and enjoying the cool breeze off the lake as the morning peace and quiet was punctuated by the occasional sound of DogCat barking in the tree and a hard, green apple bouncing off my Weber grill with a deep, surprisingly loud gong that seemed to reverberate well into the afternoon.