Stray Kitty

There is a stray kitty who lives in our yard. Her name is Stray Kitty. Sometimes she lives in the shed, sometimes she lives in the Virginia Creeper, sometimes she lives between the fence and the garage.

Stray Kitty is a little calico with one yellow eye that sees and one pink eye that has been horribly scratched. She comes to our garden room to drink from our water bowl.

The other day she sat on the rug in the garden room, looked up at the back door, and started mewling. She ran away when Mommy took out the recycling.

She doesn't like it when Duncan and I are in the yard. That is when she hides. Duncan likes to chase her and I would like to play with her.

She wants to make friends with Mommy, though. Stray Kitty was in the garden room again this morning. Later, when Duncan and I were in the house and Mommy was gardening, Stray Kitty followed Mommy through the yard. Then, when Mommy was pulling weeds, Stray Kitty walked up to her and started brushing up against her and purring. Apparently, she was a very sweet kitty, because Mommy came in the house and said, "Dogs, we have a responsibility."

Now, the only responsibility I have is to chase things out of the yard, so I was jealous of the milk that Mommy poured into a bowl and brought out to Stray Kitty. Mommy never pours milk into a bowl for me. Neither does Mommy open up a can of tuna and present it to me to eat. But she did both for Stray Kitty, who ate right out of her hand.

I wasn't all that jealous of the crate, though. I didn't begrudge Stray Kitty the time she spent locked up, even if it was for a ride in the car. Stray Kitty was not as devious as I am when Mommy tries to crate me. She didn't even put up a fight, or show her claws. She only uttered a few meows of protest.

She had clearly been in a crate before. She had also clearly been for a ride in a car and for an examination at the vet before, because she didn't protest one bit. Instead, she played and purred and was on her best behavior. At least that is what Mommy said, because I didn't get to go.

When she had been checked over and given her shots and after Mommy made an appointment for an operation to have the bad eye removed, she came home. Mommy let her out of her crate in the back yard and she disappeared into one of her hiding places.

We have not seen her all day. But Mommy and the Big Guy are sure she'll be back for breakfast. As much as she likes to be free, Stray Kitty is not a self-sufficient Kitty.

Do not worry, fans. I, Poppy, have not been demoted to second fiddle to a kitty. The Big Guy is allergic to cats and as he would like to breathe, Stray Kitty can't become part of the family.

Mommy will catch (if that is what you can call it) her again on Tuesday and take her for her operation. Then Stray Kitty will have to stay in our garden room until she's done with her antibiotics. Meanwhile, the kind vets at Planned Pethood Plus will be helping Mommy and the Big Guy find Stray Kitty a home.

I Do Stairs Better Than Scarlett O'Hara

I do stairs better than Scarlett O'Hara.

I have much the same survival instinct as the aforementioned cinematic heroine.* We both are very demanding and use our charms to get what we want. I, Poppy, am very flirtatious.

In the movie, Miss Scarlett is always on the stairs. You could say that the stairs are the setting to so many of the dramas of her life.**

Unlike Miss Scarlett I do not hang out on stairs. This is how my dramatic expression trumps hers.

In my life, stairs are a conduit of action -- especially of downward action. What happens at the top of the stairs is more important that what happens on them. They and gravity exist only to punctuate my emotions.

You could say that the stairs in my life are like the stairs in The Red Shoes.***

For example, today I remembered that I left a chewie in the bedroom. I went up to get it. My audience was in the dining room at the bottom of the stairs and unsure as to why I went up. I made some noises to add to the suspense. At just the right moment, I appeared at the top of the stairs, my eyes wide and full of fire, and with the very large chewie in my mouth. I paused just long enough to let the potential energy of my excitement and triumph settle on the audience, and then I ran at full speed down the stairs toward them.

It got their attention. Just what I wanted.



*I call her a cinematic heroine because I have not read the book. I have only seen the movie. I do not read.

**At this very moment, my mommy is urging me to discourse on the topic of stairs as a device in Gone With the Wind. I refuse. This blog is about me.

***Miss Vicky is a match for Miss Scarlett any day in the drama department.