December 5, 2013

Newfound Respect For Noah

Tuesday night, we got in kinda late, especially for a school night, and stood out in our front yard--this was before it became colder than your best guy friend's ex-wife--listening to and watching something explode to the south of us. (It turned out to be fireworks at Oklahoma Wesleyan University.) When we finally discerned that it was just a fireworks show (Dang! That scanner app is handy!), we ventured inside to find that Bo had let himself in. He does this a lot during hot days, cold days, fireworks, rain, snow, parties, Sundays, whenever he wants in. The last time he let himself in, Leonard one of the cats got out because even though Bo can open the door, he apparently can't close it. He was born in a barn, though.

On this particular night, Bo was inside checking out our trash, and the cats were safeguarding the tree against the intruder.

Brian showed Bo to the dog's room--yes they have their own room. Don't think we're all dog crazy, though. It's not a great room, and it doesn't have any windows. We shuffled The Daughters to bed and then I sat down to work on my fourth book ... it's about girlfriends, but after this blog post, I may want to write about animal sciences and insanity.

When I finished my writing for the night, I went to the garage to make sure the door was down and discovered that the back down had never been closed about Bo's (I'm assuming) grand entrance. I pushed the door shut and spied four little green eyes in the still of the night. I sighed, opened the door again and step outside saying, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."

The cats watched me walk toward them, laughed then ran off into the dark, black night.

Since it was about midnight, I slammed the door shut, said a few cuss words and went back to bed.

All night long the cats sat outside my bedroom window meowing but refusing to come in. I said more cuss words. 

The next morning, Brian left at an ungodly hour to go to a workshop, and I rose from my bed at the last possible moment I could. I went to the back door to call for the cats. They were not there ... but I heard them meow. They were in the front yard, little tricksters. 

Daughter 2 was already in the shower, so I snagged Daughter 1 from her warm bed to, well, herd the cats back into the house. We went to the front yard and the cats, of course, bolted. Daughter 1 remained in the front yard hollering, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty." I went back into the house, to open the garage door where I found the questionable cats upsetting the dove.

Yes, we have a forsaken dove that has taken sanctuary from the neighborhood hawk in our garage--which has a built-in pet door, courtesy of Bo. The dove was doing some sort of Karate Kid-type move onto of our garage door opener while the cats were clawing their way back into the house. 

I calmed the dove, let the cats in the door just in time for Bo to open the door to his room and chase the cats right back out the front door.

This was all before 6:30 a.m..

If God Almighty had shown up on my doorstep as I was in my pajamas and told me to build an ark, I'd have asked him to help me find a hammer in our disarrayed garage, and I'd have started hunting down gopher wood.


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