Cats, cats, everywhere cats

I’m not sure what it is lately, but I’ve been seeing cats in strange places.  I’ve been seeing them everywhere.

Maybe the fact that we just celebrated the 16th birthday of our oldest cat along with my son’s 16th birthday (yesterday, in fact) is weighing in somewhere deep inside my subconscious, bringing Artie’s kittenhood to the forefront of my active thinking.  More than those early fuzzball years, when J. would toss Cheerios over the edge of the high chair tray to the tiny purring mouth far below, I watch Artemis make calculated decisions to or not to leap up onto the high places that used to be easy jumps for him and ultimately, I consider the approaching end of his life and what effect that will have in our household.

Two nights ago I sat outside on my front porch in the dark.  The sky was surprisingly bright for all the light pollution in my particular neighborhood, in my particular city.  The air was so cool, so crisp a reminder to me that despite the sweaty summer, autumn is fast approaching.  From the far left and behind a bush, a wayward pumpkin vine, numerous perennials and the three clumps of daylilies that have caught their orangey third wind this season, I peripherally noticed a cat poking its nose around some sunflower plants.  She had a coat similar to our middle cat Puppy, who is a dark coated, and somewhat dimwitted but always loveable Tortie.

“Heeeeereeeee kitty.  C’mere kitty”, I stage whispered across the garden.  I was interested in making a connection – to the cat, not to neighbors I might inadvertently wake by cat calls.  Kitty stopped sniffing around, but she didn’t make any movement indicating she wanted to be friends.  I made soft low clucking noises to her.  What appeared to be her head rose up to sniff the air, but she wouldn’t come closer.  

When my six or seven further attempts at “Here kitty kitty” and clucking to the frightened cat over the next ten minutes didn’t produce any signs of confidence, I decided to move me closer to her.  Bridge the gap, so to speak.   I quietly padded across the strip of sidewalk onto the wet grass and neared the daylilies where she was hiding, then immediately retreated.

Sweet little shy kitty who wasn’t responding to my love calls was, in fact, a skunk.  

I must admit to the whoosh of the adrenaline rush as well as the Homeresque ‘D’oh!’, but I was awfully gratefully for having met the one who was kind enough to give me ample time to get myself out of the way before she had to do what comes naturally when feeling threatened.