Suzy Says

Looking for Me?

You know, there’s been a lot more bird droppings on Wednesday than usual lately. I seem to have been taking birds away from the cats almost every day now, which makes me wonder (and shudder) at what must be happening when I’m not there to interfere. I rescued a robin from Roscoe’s clutches yesterday, glad to see it fly away unscathed, though noting that the presence of robins means that winter is here. Robins bopping around and frogs singing – along with chainsaws dealing with trees knocked over in storms – are winter’s soundtrack in Hooterville.

Maybe Hitch was right and our avian friends are trying to get some revenge.

Speaking of horror, Clyde put me through hell last night.

Clyde is the first one to come in at night, anticipating the reward of treats, so I was surprised when he didn’t respond to my call. Usually, he comes scampering out of the woods, bright eyed and happy, but last night, nothing. It was about 5:00 PM, so darkness, the eternal enemy, was hovering. Roscoe was sitting calmly on the stairs, and Audrey was taking a completely unconcerned bath in the garden, but no sign of Clyde.

As the then-seven year old Jessica observed, I am a worrier, and it didn’t take long for me to push the panic button. I texted Megan, even though there was really nothing she could do about it, and while I was out calling Clyde, flashlight in hand, I forced Rob to hug me, even though he was exhausted and sweaty from working at the property all day. They both assured me that all would be well, but did I heed their well-meant advice? No. I went ahead and worried, while calling Clyde all over the place.

I went back inside, reflecting on the pointlessness of calling cats, while yet not stopping calling them. I couldn’t focus on anything or settle down. I kept looking at the sliding glass doors where Clyde wasn’t and wondering where he was. I had seen him at 4:30 and started looking for him at 5:00. It was still basically daylight then, and also Mark was chainsawing and doing other things with loud equipment all day, which would keep the monsters at bay, so Clyde should be OK. Right? But the Slobber Monster grabbed him in broad daylight…if cowards die a thousand times before their actual deaths, so do worriers.

Eventually, he appeared, as if by magic, and my heart leaped at the sight of Clyde’s little white bow tie looming out of the darkness. He was undoubtedly mystified by my sweeping him into my arms and kissing him while crying. “What the hell?” he was clearly thinking. “Where are the treats, crazy lady?” His fur smelled of wet wood and smoke, so my theory is that he was stalking a mouse in the woodpile created by Mark’s chainsawing. You know how cats can sit for hours at a place where they think there’s a mouse, and nothing will dissuade them, even panicky girls calling their names in the darkness.

I am sorry to say that it was all of 6:30 PM at that point. Time to pour a glass of wine, heat up some of the soup I made in the earlier, pre-panicked portions of the day, text my sister to call off the APB, and watch an episode of Ray Donovan.

Clyde curled up next to me as if nothing had happened and promptly went to sleep.