So here I sit droopy eyed, having had my hot cocoa, ready for bed and the sun is still up. Even the cat is confused. He usually goes out at night and he has a “feeling” that the time is right, but there is definitely something wrong with the sun. He is sitting here by the sliding glass door, taking a bath and thinking it over. Pondering the mysteries of the cat universe. The one where the nighttime is the right time to do kitty stuff outdoors, in the dark, where is the dark anyway? (These are deep thoughts for a cat.)
That’s just what I am worried about too, nighttime feline stuff. I transplanted a dozen tomato plants today and I don’t want him digging them up in their nice soft earthy bed when kitty nature calls.
Hence the obstacle course. I have made the raised bed into a veritable jungle of soaker hoses, wooden stakes, old bird houses, a rake, a hoe, a bamboo rod, two decorative stakes that have scarecrow heads on them and a “No Kitty Potty” sign.
A nice fake Rotwieler might be helpful, but I don’t have one on hand. Our neighbors across the street have a real one in their back yard, but I don’t think I want him spending the night in my garden. Somehow I think he would do more damage than the cats. We have a lot of cats on our block. Maybe that’s why we don’t have as many field mice as we used to. Those voracious beasties would eat my strawberries every night and make tunnels in my flower beds and kill the roots. But I think the cats have convinced them that living in the fields and eating seeds is better than eating strawberries and risking certain death. So I suppose I should not be TOO hard on the cats.
In the meantime, the sun has moved lower in the sky. I can’t call it twilight by any means, but it’s looking promising that we WILL have nighttime soon. And it’s a good thing, because my writing lobe is going numb and needs to be tucked in bed.
Yawn.
Nighty night.