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Monday Update

Ok, the whatever-it-is visits at approximately the same time each day. And occasionally a second time. Generally, the primary visit is between 1pm and 3pm, EDT. The lid is knocked off and little paw print depressions are in the can. (Sunday and Monday both)

Yesterday I tithed the darned thing. I put out a full bowl of crumbles and one of diet cat food. It knocked the brick onto both, spilling both bowls. No sign that any of it has been eaten in the past two days of visits. Usually everything eats cat food. But the skunk early Sunday morning also turned it down. Maybe everything eats Chef's Blend, which used to be Sneakers drug of choice when he was alive and the only cat around. Maybe not everything (including the cats) eats IAMS diet chow for fat cats. While two of the cats are svelte and athletic, RT is the laziest, fattest cat we've ever seen (and we've had plenty over the years). RT is the sumo wrestler of cats. He weighs twice what he weighed when he arrived a starving, friendless, fully-activated, young male cat. He is now de-activated and still has a deep psychological concern over where his next meal will come from. (The food dish, stupid.) While given to short bursts of intense strength and energy, he is mostly asleep. Or eating. Which then requires a nap after the exertion of chowing down. Eating is hard work you know. So everyone eats the diet stuff because RT is a fat pig, weighing 15.5 pounds. And no, he's not a Maine Coone. He's your garden variety American Domestic Short Hair Tabby. Meanwhile our Maine Coone, who came to us at that same weight 2 years ago at age 7, now weighs 14 pounds and there's no spare flesh on him. He's a big cat in athletic shape (that's PD). I slip Mrs. Gaines an extra can of Fancy Feast once in a while. She's 7 pounds and skinny and death to all rodents and birds in a 10 acre range. She has a taste for chicken chasing, too, but we discourage that.

But I digress. So I also tithed a bowl of scratch, now that the cat food was scattered on the dirt floor of the barn. I'm not quite sure, but I don't think the scratch has been touched either. My attempts to scrape the floor with a stick to make a place for footprints has also failed. (See? It *is* a ghost.) Meanwhile, the brick gets tossed aside and the lid taken off on this regular schedule. Once at lunchtime and again around teatime. But only the crumbles can. Never the scratch.

Today, I did surprise something. I heard a twang in a pile of wire as I approached the barn to get the tractor out for mowing at about 1:30 or 2. I probably disturbed whatever-it-is in mid whatever-it's-doing. Because when I put the girls to bed at sundown, the lid was off again. And I had the tractor screaming around the property for about 3 hours so that would have inhibited any return to the can.

Have to think up more things I can do to try and identify whatever-it-is. J says he will put bungies on the cans, but I don't know. This is actually kind of interesting. Whatever-it-is ignores food placed out for it and just knocks the lid off and then gets inside. Why? Because it's there?

An even dozen eggs today. J bought more egg boxes. I ate eggs. New iPod is functioning with old playlists after much cursing and downloading of updates at dialup speeds. (No, I don't want album art with that, thank you.) Maybe now I'll learn what a podcast is. Chicken stories and fairy stories dance in my head. Life goes on.

Frog Out

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( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
maralton
Oct. 11th, 2006 06:38 pm (UTC)
Cats
Well, I love the cats description. Knowing them as I do, it was apt. Once you exposed PD to fat bearing chow, he never wanted to go back to the good for you stuff he got from his old mother, not even if it helped hairballs. He only got fancy Feast on his birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Your mixing the "good for you" in the bowl with the tasty stuff never helped either as he ate around it. Clever animal. At least HE knows his name and promptly appears at feeding time whether there is food out or not. He also understands some English and will obey orders (somewhat reluctantly)if they are clear. RT and Mrs G just look at you. "Are you talking to me? No speaka de English." Or so it seems.
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