Hours later I woke from a restful nap. The fire was filling my heart with warmth. The cat was purring like a motor. All was well. What had been the source of my bad attitude? I couldn’t recall.
At any rate I was happy and ready to talk. It was time to explain to our new hire the mechanics of our enterprise. Cats exist to hunt mice (and other problematic creatures). I began my new employee training program:
“I got a word of warning for would-be pets. When you join my command, you take on a debt. A debt you owe me personally. Each and every creature under my command owes me one hundred rodent scalps. And I want my scalps. And y’all will get me one hundred rodent scalps, taken from the heads of one hundred dead rodents. Or you will die trying.”
There was a sigh from behind me. Mrs. Curmudgeon:
“Have you been monologuing to the cat?”
“Well you see…” I stammered. It was no good. How was I to explain that this sleepy creature needed to toughen up?
She strode forward and scooped up the huge cat. It was unconcerned by her attention. We’ve got other cats that’ll flee if you hint you’re about to pick them up. They’ll scratch your eyes out if you try. This giant puffball just cuddled into her arms and glanced backward to me with half closed eyes; as if he’d shrug his shoulders but it was too much work. Mrs. Curmudgeon was talking to the cat.
“Just ignore him Lord Fluffington.”
Lord Fluffington?!?
“There are no titles of nobility in this house. That cat’s new name is Skullcrusher!” I huffed.
It was too late. They were both gone.
I lose the world’s bravest duck to Valhalla and the replacement is a huge cat with such a huggable personality the mice will beat him up. So it goes.
Does he lean to the left like Lurch?
}:-]
Nobody leans like Lurch. (Though I am impressed with Lurch in that he made it through the winter. I terms of longevity he’s the Keith Richards of cats.)
And they probably look pretty much the same as well. Any chance that Lurch may actually BE Keith Richards???
}:-]
Never met a cat that once it got a taste of warm blood it didn’t turn into a cold-blooded hunter. (I’ve not met Lurch though but blind hog/acorn comes to mind with him.) Anyway, you may be surprised to find out Mrs. AC’s Fluffington is your closet Skullcrusher.
Lurch was once the deadliest thing in the county. (Also a huge bully that attacked and dominated every cat it saw.)
It is age, not disposition that has taken him out of the hunt. I figure he gets the full cat retirement package and I don’t blame him for letting the critters get the upper hand.
Are you still hunting squirrels for him?
}:-]
Or was it chipmunks?
Both for Lurch… and it’s not the right season. Poor bastard has to eat cat food.
“Lurch was once the deadliest thing in the county.”
The year I got married, my wife and I got a kitten, and moved to the edge of a small town in upstate NY. The kitten was allowed to be indoor/outdoor, and as soon as she was old enough she started leaving offerings of dead mice at the doors. In the year we lived there, she depopulated the mice, and started bringing us moles. Near the end of the year, she apparently ran out of moles and started bringing shrews.
When we moved away we went to the city, so we gave her to someone with a barn with no shortage of rodents.
Great yarn.
Higgi, 24# in his prime was instant death to any mole who had the poor judgement to invade our yard, a starling that came within 10 feet would be spread from hell to breakfast throughout the interior of the house, he was a lap weight beyond compare, damnit! I miss him.