A couple of nights ago I was awakened by the sound of feet running down the hall and into our bathroom. I sat up, noted that Studly wasn’t in bed, and called his name. There was no answer.
I got out of bed and hurried into the bathroom worried that Studly, who’d been under the weather, had gotten sick. The bathroom, though, was empty. Hmmm. I checked the den and there he was, snoring away from the comfort of his recliner.
Returning to bed, I surmised that the cats had enjoyed one of their tumbling runs through the house, even though the sound of running feet had seemed much louder than two middling sized cats could’ve generated. Again I dozed off into dreamland.
Sometime before dawn, I was startled awake again by the same sound of running feet. This time I noted that one cat, Scout, was sleeping peacefully beside me and that her “sibling,” Patches, was firmly ensconced in her favorite chair. Studly, was still in his recliner snoring like a freight train. Obviously I had experienced an auditory dream. It was unnerving.
Have any of you experienced such a phenomenon? Often I hear music in my dreams that lingers over into my waking life, but the sound of running feet was a first. I don’t want to hear that ever again.
Instead, I’ll listen to Billy Joel.
A fat fluffy red fox jogged briskly across my backyard this morning, halfway between the house and the lake. Patches and I were sitting on the deck enjoying a cup of coffee, when the fox caught the two of us off guard.
We watched avidly as Mr. Fox scurried down into the forest, and continued watching long after he was out of sight. Patches’s tail whipped back and forth as she followed his every move; whereas, mine remained static. My tail doesn’t often whip these days, even when I’m agitated or excited. One of those unfortunate cases of “use it or lose it” I’m afraid.
Eventually I had to refill my coffee, so I left Patches on guard where she remains as I write this:
No fox is getting past her. Nosirree! Unless of course someone offers her a treat, then all guard duties will be abandoned for the sake of a catnip flavored nibble.
Now, to the point. This little essay began with the words, “A fat fluffy red fox….” The order of the words rolled off the tips of my fingers and onto the screen. Could I have also typed, “a red fat fluffy fox” or a “fluffy red fat fox?” Sure. But why did my initial word choice feel the most correct to me? We tend to say, “clear blue sky” instead of “blue clear sky,” and Patches would be a “cute black and white cat,” and not a “black and white cute cat”; although, she most definitely remains black and white and undeniably cute.
Apparently I’m not the only one who has pondered this ordering of adjectives. When I googled it I found this interesting article.
Isn’t English wonderful? It’s also often confusing and in some ways, limiting, but it’s always interesting. And some folks can still get away with using adjectives in the wrong order. I’ll leave you with another fox, George Strait, and his rule bending song, “Blue Clear Sky.” How I’d love to see him in my backyard.
Patches once again finds herself in the spotlight:
This one shall be titled, “One of these Things is not Like the Others.”
My cat, Patches, sat in this position for a good five minutes trying to decide which litter box to use.
I call this one, “Decisions, Decisions.”
Insistent cat paws
Tap tapping on my forehead
“Up human! Feed me!”
Catnip toy batted about
“Human! Play with me!
Sweet kitty kisses
Velvet nose, nuzzling cheeks
“Please human, pet me!”
Get ready to say “awwwww!”
Match, a chihuahua, is the elder statespet of my daughter, Ashley’s, home having been adopted several years ago. When the family added another adoptee, Snuggles, a couple of weeks ago, Match wasn’t all that thrilled.
Snuggles, a pastel calico, tried to make friendly overtures towards her canine sibling, but Match was having nothing to do with her. Of course sometimes Snuggles’s efforts at forming a friendship were a bit aggressive–the dog’s wagging tail was just too intriguing to resist attacking.
But last night as a thunderstorm passed through their area, my daughter snapped two pictures that melted my heart. Poor Match was frightened by the storm, and Snuggles came to his rescue:
Ashley said Snuggles calmed and comforted Match during the storm. Maybe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, or maybe the two will only be foul weather friends. Regardless, this made me smile.
Peace, people and pets.
My cats, Scout and Patches, can barely tolerate one another. Generally, if Scout is in the living room, Patches will be in one of the bedrooms. If Patches is napping on the back porch, Scout will be curled up on our bed. Seldom will they arrange themselves in such close proximity that I can fit them into one photograph.
But today, I looked up from my book to see this tableau:
That’s Patches above and Scout below.
This could be an omen. Forget chakras, don’t consult your horoscopes. Whether for good or for evil, the cats have aligned.
(No cats were harmed in the writing of this post.)
I was attempting to write a post for the blog last night, but my efforts were hampered by a harasser. The guilty party? Our youngest cat, Patches.
Patches doesn’t like it when we stay up past her 8:30 p.m. bedtime. Around eight she begins campaigning for us to follow her to the bedroom, first by giving us the look:
If that fails to deliver the desired results, she plops down in the middle of the room and sighs loudly at regular intervals.
At the mere mention of the “B” word (bed), she’s ready for action.
She’s kind of hard to ignore.
It’s 9:05. I’d better give in or risk the wrath of Curfew Kitty.