Paddler
October 13th, 2015, 08:41 AM
From the cat journal, April 2010:
Tigger has a favorite place to hang out. There is a small stack of old lumber sitting on a couple of sawhorses near our back door. I call it "the Tiggery" because Tig likes to sit on the top plank, chew on the catnip growing up around him, and make the word "bliss" into a verb.
It is that time of year when woodchucks begin to invade the garden, and so, at odd hours of the day, I heave a firecracker out the back door, just to acclimate the neighbors to sudden noises - noises like a scattergun full of No.5 shot.
Last night, I looked out the back and checked for neighbors watching. There were none, so I kicked open the door and winged out a good-sized firework. Then I noticed that Tig was sitting on his plank. Oops! I was hoping he wouldn't hear the fuse sizzling two feet below him and jump down to investigate. He heard it and looked from side to side for a couple of seconds and. . . Bam! He launched himself skyward, swapped ends once, and landed six feet away. Then he just stood there, giving me an accusing look.
Any other cat treated in such a cavalier fashion would have shinned out of there for a three-day change of scenery. Not Tig. He doesn't hold a grudge. He is sitting on my lap right now, bunting my chin and purring like a motorboat.
MCR>
Abstractor of the Quintessence
Order of the Digital Grail
Tigger has a favorite place to hang out. There is a small stack of old lumber sitting on a couple of sawhorses near our back door. I call it "the Tiggery" because Tig likes to sit on the top plank, chew on the catnip growing up around him, and make the word "bliss" into a verb.
It is that time of year when woodchucks begin to invade the garden, and so, at odd hours of the day, I heave a firecracker out the back door, just to acclimate the neighbors to sudden noises - noises like a scattergun full of No.5 shot.
Last night, I looked out the back and checked for neighbors watching. There were none, so I kicked open the door and winged out a good-sized firework. Then I noticed that Tig was sitting on his plank. Oops! I was hoping he wouldn't hear the fuse sizzling two feet below him and jump down to investigate. He heard it and looked from side to side for a couple of seconds and. . . Bam! He launched himself skyward, swapped ends once, and landed six feet away. Then he just stood there, giving me an accusing look.
Any other cat treated in such a cavalier fashion would have shinned out of there for a three-day change of scenery. Not Tig. He doesn't hold a grudge. He is sitting on my lap right now, bunting my chin and purring like a motorboat.
MCR>
Abstractor of the Quintessence
Order of the Digital Grail