My name is Gloria, and I'm a cat. I live in a big white house on Campbell Street. I came here a year ago as a very lost kitten. I don't know what happened to my first family. I do remember being very hungry and dirty.
The Campbell Street family fed me, and even though I wouldn't let them touch me or even get near me, they smiled a lot and left me food and water every day out on the big porch. One day, they left a wooden box with a blanket inside for me to sleep in. I felt safe in the wooden box, and the lazy days of summer passed slowly in a haze of contentment.
I loved all the gardens. The flower gardens had several rabbit holes, and if I sat very still and watched and waited, sometimes a rabbit would come out, and then we would have a merry chase across the neighborhood. The vegetable garden with its raspberry patch was my own private jungle.
In the afternoons the tall okra and tomato plants cast cool shadows on the hot dusty earth below, a perfect hideaway to watch the many different kinds of butterflies that flitted here and there among the red and yellow and orange and pink zinnias that grew along the edge of the squash patch.
I'm a cat. I don't know a lot about the months of the year or the seasons, but at some point even I could tell things were changing in my world. The leaves started falling out of the big walnut tree in the side yard. Walnuts fell, too, and it was great fun to watch the fat grey squirrels retrieve and bury the walnuts, which I thought was a lot of senseless work since my family feeds the squirrels every day.
My family feeds a lot of animals. They have bird feeders for the birds, pans of seeds and nuts for the squirrels and chipmunks. They even leave pans of cereal and bread and peanut butter for the raccoons who creep up onto the porch after dark. That's how I first met the possum.
I was sitting in my crate enjoying the sweet summer night air when I noticed a creature slowly walking across the porch in front of me. It was large and had a long, rat-like tail and beady red eyes on either side of a long nose. He used his funny fingers to pick up food and put it into his mouth. Just like a human, I thought at the time. After a drink of water, he crawled down the porch steps into the darkness. It wasn't long before the possum returned, and then he was on the porch every night. He didn't seem to mind me watching him, and I enjoyed his company.
One day, rather suddenly from my point of view, it began to snow. Snow is cold, I learned quickly. A little snow falling out of the sky is kind of pretty, but a lot of snow makes you feel wet and miserable even if you have a fur coat like I do. My family had a heated cat house made for me, so no matter how cold it is outside, I can stay warm. That's a good thing for an outdoors cat to count on.
The funny thing is, that by this time, I had become a part outdoor, part indoor cat, having discovered the wonders of rugs and chairs and toilet and bathtub, not to mention the wondrous maze of closet floors and nether regions under the bed and dressers upstairs. Just climbing the steep stairs to the rooms above where my family lives is an exciting experience for a cat. Sort of like a vertical jungle.
Winter became an indoors summer for me. I went outside when I wanted to go outside. I stayed inside when I wanted to stay inside. I truly was the queen of my castle. I slept on the bed with the electric blanket that someone always left turned on for me. Such luxury I could not have imagined. The heated cat house paled by comparison.
Still there remain days when I feel the need for brisk cold air, to be one with the elements and to wander through my now snowy garden places, knowing I can always return to my little heated cat house until the kitchen door opens wide for me again. That is, until recently.
On a particularly cold morning, I did my usual pacing and whining at the kitchen door, and they let me out. It was snowing very hard and after a brief detour to the garage and the wilder regions beyond, I cut my adventure short and made a hasty retreat to the porch and my little house to warm up and watch the snowflakes fall in warm comfort. Imagine my surprise, then, as I entered my house to see staring back at me those same red, beady eyes of none other than the possum.
As I said before, the possum is a friendly, non-confrontational creature, so he didn't snarl or state in any way that my house was now his territory. But he did seem to be saying that it was now his house, too. This he said by not moving an inch or blinking an eye. I discovered then, that I am selfish and I do not like to share.
It's been weeks now, and the possum is still in my house. He is still eating every day out of my outside food bowl. He still rolls around and makes himself comfortable on my pink butterfly print fleecy blanket. You know the old adage: "While the cat's away, the possum moves in," and it bothers me.
And so I sit on my electric blanket on the big bed upstairs. I eat as much as I want and even beg for special treats which I always get. I amuse myself from my box of cat toys. I drink out of the faucets and sleep in the bathroom sink.
But it's just not enough. I am counting the days til the snow melts, the grass grows, another glorious garden appears out of no where for me to wander through on lazy afternoons, and life returns to another magical summertime so I can once again be queen of the jungle on Campbell Street, and, just maybe, convince that possum to go away.
No comments:
Post a Comment