The Mighty Hunters

Last week I was thinking the new cats, Eustace and Basil, just weren't stacking up to the cats of my past in the hunting department. Sure they are handsome boys with good characters, but where are the presents? Where is the "Thanks for all the canned food, here is a small, dead mouse"? That Sister, now she was a hunter! A fresh, new snake brought right to my kitchen every morning: Snake Express, We Deliver! These new kittens don't impress me, the lazy bums. A few moths. A grasshopper or two. Once a month a vole, if I'm lucky. Why I'd certainly have starved to death by now if I had to rely on their feeble hunting skills.

They read my mind. Or else, as my husband pointed out, spring arrived. This week my kitchen has been body part central. So far I have received: a headless snake, a full grown male cardinal, a baby vole, a bird's head, and a squirrel's tail. And the week isn't over yet. Good pickings if you happen to like assorted small, helpless animal parts.

Fanny, the bulldog, however, remains unimpressed. She has bigger, more impressive prey to hunt. There is nothing she likes better than to go for a drive with Dave or me, and come home with tacos, or pizza, or eggrolls. You can see the excitement when she comes through the door. Look! Look what we have done!

From Fanny's Unpublished Memoirs:

It was a good day for a hunt. She did that thing with her voice, that thing that makes me shiver. Do you want to go in the car? I must sit for THE LEASH even though I am trembling.

She is a great hunter. Our pack is never hungry. Every day she hunts and there is food. Every morning there is food in MY DISH. I must sit and wait. I drool. And then she says, Good Dog.

When she makes that chop chop noise, I run to the kitchen. She is standing. She stands and makes a chop chop noise and something flies in the air and lands in my mouth. It is good. It is meaty.

When I hear the crinkle crinkle sound, I am sleeping. I run to the bedroom. Crinkle crinkle from the bedroom at night is good. Sometimes it is cheesy things, they are crunchy and small. Sometimes it is POPCORN. Sometimes it is things I cannot have. NO. NO. They make me sad.

When I smell that special smell from the kitchen, I know good things are coming. It is RIB time. This is good. I sit ON THE CARPET. GOOD DOG. This is BONES. I get many bones. This is a good night.

Today, now, she does that thing with her voice. You want to go in the car? We go OUTSIDE. The air is good. The air smells like excitement. We go in THE CAR. The car is like the house but smaller. I go in THE BACKSEAT. We sit and we wait. I know she is a good hunter. She is good at sitting and waiting. She will wait and the prey will come. She goes outside the car, but she always hunts alone. Wait in the car. I am in the car and roam around trying to see her. She does not go too far. She is coming back. And this place smells like the small, soft things. I can smell it. It will be good.

Get in the backseat She has brought that smell with her. The small, soft parts are inside the skin. She carries the skin. It is not good, that skin, it is tough. I make a soft cry. She hears my cry. My cry is, "Can we eat the small, soft things now?" She says Do you want a DOUGHNUT? She tears the skin. Inside is the good things. A piece flies through the air. Oh. It is the good, small, soft thing. I swallow it. We should eat all the soft, small things now. I can smell more. There are more. But she sits and waits. She will find home. She will find our pack and share. She is a good hunter.

She goes outside the car with the small, soft things. She comes to get me. I sniff the air. This is HOME. We go INSIDE. The small, soft things go ON THE TABLE. When I was a puppy, I went ON THE TABLE. I ate many small, soft things. I ate the skin. It was BAD DOG. I do not do that now. I do not go ON THE TABLE. I sit. The man comes. "Look at what we found!" I tell him. I show him I am happy. He is happy. Our pack will not be hungry. She is a good hunter.

Mick

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Our home has suddenly become catless. Our friend Mick has not been seen for three weeks, and we are sure that he is gone for good. We can only hope he has gone on to a paradise with fewer and gentler bulldogs.

His name was not always Mick. Five years ago, we decided it was time to do something about the mice who were punch drunk with freedom and carousing in all corners of the house. Luckily some friends of ours had just had a litter of kittens born in their barn. It was easy to tell which kitten would be our choice, the fearless one with the friendly manner. But we decided he should have a playmate as well so we brought along his sister. We named them Mick and Sister. It became obvious a few months later that we had made a mistake, two mistakes in fact, and the names were switched around pronto. Sister would always be the alpha male, however, even if she wasn't technically a male. She would climb the highest, bring home the biggest snakes, and be the most aggressive lap hog. Sadly, her fearlessness was her undoing and before she celebrated her first birthday, we found her dead by the mailbox. Probably the victim of a car accident.

Mick was always shy and without Sister to help him out, he seemed even more withdrawn. Eventually he bonded with Otis the old bloodhound-- by this time more furniture than pet-- and the two of them spent their days napping together. Otis seemed impervious to Mick's claws as he went about the serious business of trying to nurse from Otis’ stomach. Life was pretty tranquil for this sleepy pair and then we got Fanny.

We thought a bulldog puppy might liven things up. We were right about that, but we were wrong when we imagined that Mick, who weighed twice as much as Fanny, would teach her to be respectful. He never had it in him to be the aggressor. Instead Mick became Fanny’s endlessly fascinating wind-up toy. Fanny and Mick played the same game over and over: Fanny would appear to be fast asleep, Mick would sit and calculate his odds before attempting to cross the room, and then, just before Mick reached safety, Fanny would pounce. Fanny never did anything worse then pin Mick to the floor with one paw, but that was bad enough. Mick never fought back, he just waited patiently until either Fanny got bored or one of us humans got involved. But perhaps that was the best strategy after all– no one ever got injured and frequently the two of them would reconcile with a mutual face-washing orgy. Perhaps Mick’s docility was the only possible way their friendship could flourish.

I’ll miss Mick. I’ll miss seeing his silhouette in the bedroom door assessing his chances of making it to the bed. I’ll miss his loud cries of impatience as he waits for us to join him in taking a nap. I’ll miss his games of hiding behind the newspaper and reaching underneath to attack my hands. I’ll miss the sound of his pretend baby kitten voice as he tries to convince me he needs to nurse on
my stomach. Farewell, dear friend, you will live on in our memories. As my daughter says, "You were the best cheese head-rubber, ever."

Official Title: Official Title

Apparently legislators in North Carolina have a lot of time on their hands because we have more state symbols than you can shake a stick at. Just like other states we have an Official State Tree (the Pine) and an Official State Wild Flower (the Carolina Lily) but we also have an Official State International Festival (Folkmoot USA). Sure, just like other states we have an Official Fruit (the Scuppernong grape) but we also have an Official Blue Berry (the Blueberry) as well as an Official Red Berry (the Strawberry). Imagine the chagrin of the raspberry growers.

Recently, efforts to name a state cat and a state carnivorous plant did not go well, but I have no doubt at all that soon we will have an Official State Poultry (the chicken), an Official State Gender (male), and an Official State Shoe (the left).

So since I have too much time on my hands today-- it is raining outside--I decided to run this idea into the ground. Here then is my Official List of Official Laura Jane Symbols:

Official Dog: Fanny

Official Cat: Mick

Official Husband: Dave

Official Daughter: Gwen

Official Pillow: "Lumpy"

Official Movie That Scared The Bejebus Out of Me as a Child: The Crawling Eye

Official Furniture Most in Need of Replacement: the couch inherited from my husband's grandparents and eaten by Fanny, the bulldog

Official Electronic I Recently Discovered and Now Cannot Live Without: TiVo

Official Best Reason For Having a TiVo: So I can rewind the almost indecipherable dialog in "Deadwood."

Official Activity Between 4pm and 5pm: the nap

Official Activity Most Looked Forward To By a Dog: Popcorn Night

Official Most Worthless Activity: Giving Fanny taste tests such as bacon vs. cheese or steak vs. baked potato

Official Pirate Beverage Most Likely to be Consumed Before Conducting Taste Tests: Rum

Official OTC Medicine Most Needed in This House: "Curtail" for doggie gas

Official Insect Most Likely to Disappear Once I am Named Queen of the Universe: the mosquito

Official Reason Why I Have Not Been Named Queen of the Universe Yet: Those bad marks on my permanent record from Elementary school, specifically that note from my kindergarten teacher about the playdough and a boy named Billy

Official Favorite Enigmatic Description From "The Contender": "He's no can of tomatoes."

Official Activity Least Likely to Occur in My Lifetime: Patching up the squirrel-catching holes in the laundry room ceiling.

Official Most Irritating Activity by an Animal Known to Me Personally: Mick's insane desire to rub his head on everything including the book I am trying to read and the cheese I am trying to eat

Official Favorite Gilligan's Island Episode: The one guest starring The Harlem Globetrotters

Official Favorite Shakespearean Play: The one guest starring The Harlem Globetrotters

Et Tu, Meadowlark?