I sat on the floor behind Freddie as he watched the backyard through the screen door. “What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Lizards,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the yard.
I scanned the yard, paying close attention to the bushes and vines where they liked to hang out. “I don’t see any,” I said.
“They’re out there,” he said, darkly.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
- Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
- Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
- Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
- Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly.
- There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw.
The lizards were indeed back, as the weather had warmed a little and the winter storms seemed to be behind us. I sometimes saw them dart out from behind the trash cans when I took out the kitchen trash or doing pushups on the warm rock of the pool deck. But there weren’t any in sight at this moment.
“Did you see a lizard?” I asked him, noting the tense way he held himself and the ears that were at full alert.
“I saw three,” he said, his gaze intent.
“Where?”
He sighed and turned his head to look at me. “Human, this isn’t helping me.”
I frowned, a little taken aback. “What? Me talking to you?”
“I need to concentrate,” he said, turning back to the yard.
“I’m just trying to share in your interests,” I explained.
Freddie wiggled his backside, fidgeting with his back paws to get in a better pounce position. I squinted at the screen door and saw a single lizard darting across the block wall at the back of the yard. “That’s a big one!” I observed.
“Shh!” he said, lowing his belly to the floor.
“That door is closed,” I pointed out, mildly. “You can’t get out to catch it.”
He glared at me over his shoulder then turned back to watch.
The lizard was gone. He relaxed his body.
I lowered my head so it was close to his, both of us facing the open screen door. “What now?” I whispered.
“We wait,” he whispered back. “And watch.”
I straightened my body so I was lying on my stomach on the floor, resting the weight of my upper body on my forearms. “What happens when we see something?”
“We sneak up on it very quietly,” he explained.
“Okay,” I nodded.
“Then we coil up all our energy into the tips of our paws,” he continued.
“Makes sense.”
“Then we pounce! And grab it!”
“Then what?”
His eyes darted to mine, then away.
“What do we do when we catch it?”
“I’m not actually sure,” he admitted. “I’d probably bring it to you.”
“That’s why you brought me that lizard all those years ago? Because you didn’t know what to do with it?” I wondered.
He glanced over at me, eyes narrowed. “It disappeared,” he remembered.
I broke eye contact and looked forward into the yard. “Yeah, I don’t know what happened there,” I said. I had released it safely into the yard where it had made a break for the bushes at the far end, miraculously unharmed and, I assume, grateful.
With a little growl, he turned back to the yard.
“Are we still waiting?” I whispered.
“Yes,” he whispered back.
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“It’s probably a good thing you have steady access to kibble and gushy food,” I observed, getting a little uncomfortable lying on the cold, hard ground.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, distracted enough to look at me.
“You don’t have to sit here and wait for something to appear while you’re hungry,” I pointed out. “This is just sport for you.”
He frowned. “I still don’t understand,” he said.
I frowned back at him. “These instincts you have are for feeding yourself,” I explained. “Cats without humans have to hunt to survive.”
He stared at me.
“You must know that,” I said. “I saw you catch and eat a moth just yesterday night.”
His frown deepened. “I eat small things,” he said. “But you still have to feed me.”
“Of course! That’s what I’m saying!”
“I’m confused.”
“Never mind,” I said, shaking my head. “You go back to your hunt.”
“I haven’t been watching!” he cried, turning back to the screen door.
We both froze, just noticing a lizard hanging off the screen outside. It was about a foot above us, obviously having climbed up while we were talking. “It must have moved very fast!” I said. “Did you hear it?”
“No! I was too busy listening to you!”
Freddie stood, stretching out his neck in an attempt to smell the small creature.
”What does it smell like?” I asked him.
”A lizard.”
”That was a pretty good hunt,” I remarked, hours later. We had both eaten dinner and were lounging on the couch.
”We sure showed that lizard,” Freddie agreed.
The lizard in question had simply grown bored, descended the screen, and sauntered off into the grass. But my cat seemed satisfied, so who was I to burst his bubble?
“We sure showed him,” he said again, quietly.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! Spring has just about returned and Freddie is glad to have his entertainment back!