“It’s hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair.” ~ Taylor Swift
There’s a few things fixin’ to piss me off, or set me off, but they never amount to much, proven by the very fact that they continue to do so, to vex, through thick and/or thin, since back in the day. Far be it from me to argue with odds like that. Dude like just go with the flow, k? That’s this morning’s inner dialogue to a ‘T’. What’s outside is highlighted by long lost coyote songs returning to the rich night air. They were there an hour ago and they are still, or again, here now. The dark morning air, above freezing, and thick with moisture, feels balmy. It’s a long haul from summer, and it ain’t been no hay ride neither. Things happened, then things changed, now things don’t rightly know what to do next, which is why they had best just sit and rest for a spell. That’s my next task.
Part of what tripped my switch in the past few days is the imminent departure of one cat named Cumin. I was one of two people to welcome this cat upon his introduction into incarceration. The other person was Savi, a dog caregiver who was cross-training with we cat handlers. Cumin arrived with four siblings. They were all semi-feral and they were all graced with a bright intensity of fur color that is indeed rare. They were crated, so Savi and I proceeded to open the crate and shuffle the three month old kittens into a cubicle, That worked, but only for a few seconds. Once inside, the five kittens all turned around and launched through the space over the cage door that only got closed after the chase. Cutting to the chase – Cumin was the last of five kittens to escapes the manual efforts of the human crew. I took it upon myself to get him with the net, a net with a drawstring at the end of a long aluminum pole, and my efforts were successful, or ‘productive’ if you are beholden to higher education. Cumin never faulted me after that rather harrowing and mildly violent capture. He was all like dude you coulda just said so, the net was really all and frankly unnecessary and stuff. A three month old kitten took capture in stride? Yup. And he is now a reformed semi-feral feline domesticus par excellence. He ain’t reformed at all. Are you? I’m going to nap. See ya.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.