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(Taken From My Official Newsletter, Issue 30,
July 2004)
With apologies to Mr. Poe:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while kitten
asleep and dachshund weary,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my cat flap door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my cat flap door-
Only this, and nothing more."
I know it's a skunk at my cat flap door...
This is a semi-regular event for me, especially at this time
of year. Somebody who isn't Royston or Streetcar squeezes through
the cat flap. As soon as I hear that click-click, I'm awake.
And I know when it isn't Royston or Streetcar. They have distinctive
approaches to entering the cat flap. Royston has a Hollywood
approach and barrels through it at full speed whereas Streetcar
slides through trying to make as little contact with the flap
as possible. That's a cat for you. But midnight callers have
thief written all over them. They tip the cat flap with cautious
trepidation.
Not that I'm first to recognize the trespass. Royston is a
furry rapier when someone enters his territory. He's off and
barking long before I'm out of bed.
I never used to be so sensitive to
the cat flap, but our night visitors have made me that way.
I was warned though. A few years back, a friend of mine said, "You have a cat flap?
That's a mistake. You'll have everything wandering in." I
pooh-poohed his warning. It wasn't like we were going to send
out invites to every animal on the block telling them about
our cat flap situation, but someone must have spilled the beans.
Things started out innocently enough.
The next-door neighbor's cat, who had a thing for Royston
and was in the midst of a territory battle with Streetcar,
plonked herself on the kitchen table at 2:00a.m. and refused
to leave. The following morning, after eating breakfast around
a very hostile cat who was in no mood to pass the butter,
we managed to get the owners to unpeel Taffy from the table.
Things also became a little interesting when a black lab
poked his head through after 4th of July festivities. Well,
I thought that was going to be it. Unfortunately, a drought
in nearby Wildcat Canyon forced the animal population into
suburbia and straight to our house. A skunk was first. Finding
that single-barreled butt-blaster in the kitchen was a surprise.
Luckily, Royston chased it out into the yard where he then
cornered it. Julie and I and Streetcar chased out there with
broomsticks and a prayer that Pepé Le Pew wouldn't do
what his kind did. To an outsider surveying the melee, it must
have had a cave painting look. Me, clad in underpants with
broomstick in hand while my trusty hound closed in our prey.
Thankfully for everyone, I got Royston away and Pepe got over
the fence.
Soon after, a raccoon came a knocking with similar shock.
A frightened raccoon in the corner of our kitchen at 4:00a.m.
with a barking dachshund, a cat covering the cat flap exit
and me, semi-naked, with my trusty broom. This was my first
encounter with a raccoon and they aren't as cuddly as depicted
by Disney. They are smart and mean, packing some fearsome claws
and teeth and they're agile when riled. They are the Jackie
Chans of the suburban neighborhood. It took some delicate negotiation
to usher the raccoon into the garage, then open the garage
door to release him into the neighborhood.
Our current nocturnal nemesis is a possum. These guys aren't
Disney cute either. Royston has cornered one twice recently
and they aren't backward in coming forward when it comes to
being mean. Now Royston spends the night with his nose pressed
up against the window watching for any trespassers.
Something got in the other night that
scared the crap out of me. Royston chased it out of the house
before I could see it but it got into our redwood tree, made
the most God awful high-pitched keening wail and made the
20-foot tree shake. Julie and I gathered up Royston, ran
back into the house and blocked the flap. We should have
followed Streetcar's lead, who is our battle scarred survivor
of many a nocturnal brawl. He just sat on the bed and stared
at us with that "I ain't
going nowhere near that one" look.
I never thought a cat flap would be so traumatic, but then
again, I didn't expect green ketchup either. Life is like that
sometimes.
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