Updated November 8, 2016.
Today I begin my cat diary.
I’ve been pawndering about this for a long time. While I’m a cat of few meows, and those are whisker quiet at best, I’m full of wiles and wistfulness.
The full moon is just beginning to wane, and my blood is running hot. I’ve watched out the back window all night long, pretending to run with the wildlife visiting the garden pond.
For three days I’ve suffered from a self-inflicted house-bound. I’m restless . . .
. . . it’s the full moon and my blood is running hot.
I pace through the house, rolling my shoulders like a lion huntress. My fur rises at the slightest provocation and a nervous prickle skates down my back. My tail switches like when I’m tracking feathery prey.
And that’s the catundrum.
A new beast has invaded Dodger’s realm.
As queen of the castle, I find this very discatcerting. Dodger is inside, under foot and disrupting the smooth schedule I manage.
For three days and nights, I’ve kept vigilance . . .
. . . of the new beast under the light of a full moon, and of Dodger, who is not acting at all like himself.
The man of the house is all out of sorts, because I changed my routine. I’m not sleeping with him, nor am I as attentive. He’s feeling re-buffed.
Doesn’t he know I’m protecting him and making sure Dodger doesn’t disturb the household with all his complaining and caterwauling? Dodger’s got to know his place inside the castle, that I am queen, ruler of the indoors.
I’m sitting by the back window as I write and a flicker of movement by the garden pond draws my attention away.
The new beast is showing itself during the day now. The woman of the house just walked into the room and the beast took flight.
No wonder Dodger has taken refuge inside the castle!
The wingspan of that feathery beast makes at least 10 of him!
What is that creature?
“Look! It’s a Great Blue Heron!” cries the woman.
It’s huge, almost as tall as she is!
I’m filled with delight.
If only I really were that lioness I pretend to be. The games that bird and I could play.
I can’t stand it any longer. I’m cooped up . . . caged!
Now, I know what Dodger feels like . . . explains a few things about him.
It’s a full moon and my blood is running hot.
Like lightening zapping my fur tips, I leap high and tear through the house. Turning, I take a flying leap at the back sliding door window.
The woman of the house sees me coming and whips open the sliding door.
I sail out into the dawn . . . its cold and the morning mist does nothing to cool the roiling boil inside me.
I’m in and out; tear through the house, out again . . . in and out, in and out . . . about 8 times in the course of an hour and a half.
The woman’s patience is wearing thin, because I’m constantly interrupting her prime writing time.
I don’t care; I can’t help myself!
I’ve been a golden girl for a long time, but I’ve got to cut loose. I can’t contain myself any longer. I’ve got to release my pent-up sassiness.
I tear through the house again, this time doing a turn through the tub enclosure in the powder room. Around and around I go before dashing back outside through the sliding door and flying into the dim morning light.
An hour later, I’m back inside, spent and dripping wet.
The giant bird is gone and Dodger is back outside.
That full moon is waning. Fog has rolled in and the mist has turned to rain.
Shoving aside my diary, I stretch out to roast in front of the fire and muse.
Perhaps things will return back to normal now that “Blue Heron” giant is gone.
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