When I’m not busy planning a contingency response for the world’s next great disaster, I can be found at my little cabin on a lake in central Minnesota. It’s not much, but it is comfortable. Fishing, having a cold drink on the deck, writing, reading, or watching the many birds and animals that stop by for a visit are favorite past times. It is this last activity that I want to discuss today.
When I go to the cabin, I take my two, 14 pound feline children along. I could leave them alone at home and they would be okay for two nights, but I prefer to have them with me. So I crate them up, load them in the truck and head north. Hermann, the tuxedo, curls up and sulks in his crate while Marble makes sure that I know how much he despises me for locking him up by meowing every three seconds for the entire drive. If he gets really upset, he will puke or leave me other forms of displeasure to clean up once we get to our destination.
However, once we arrive, all sins are forgiven. There are birds, and chipmunks, squirrels and rabbits, other cats and assorted wild game to attract “the boys” attention. And for the next forty hours, noses are glued to the window panes, tail tips twitching, muscles tense, and ears alert.
Captive audience!
When faced with a ruthless enemy such as the heinous Blue Jay or the vicious Chipmunk, the Boys will chatter as their bodies quiver with excitement. The chatter is a reflex action to seeing something that they want to bite. Their solid bodies seem to vibrate constantly and at times I think they might start to cramp up from the continuous strain.
Chipmunks love sunflowers too.
For some reason, they chatter at the Jays but not the red-headed Woodpeckers that nest in the nearby tree.
Red-Headed Woodpecker feeding her young.
When the action outside slows down, the boys burn off the tension by chasing each other around the small cabin. Two 14 pound cats, running full-bore around a 960 square foot cabin, makes on hell of a racket. The “Thundering Herd” can go on into the wee hours of the morning ensuring that I get as little sleep as they do. As the weekend draws to a close, i stuff them back into their respective crates where they repeat their afore-mentioned routine of sulking and hurling insults at me as we drive home.
After they escape their traveling prisons and have a bite to eat from their normal bowls they slip into the living room and curl up in their favorite chair. They will sleep for nearly 24 hours and an exploding stick of dynamite will not wake them as they recover from the thrills of the previous two days.
Too much excitement…
That is one full chair!
Tales From The Hare 