Cat Tales 21

I’ve been haunting the tadpole pond for weeks now. Every morning I sit on it in my favorite spot. As the palm fronds have become more pliable through soaking in the water, I’ve been able to wedge a couple of the leaflets aside. To see better.

I stare at the water, at the little blobs wriggling in a ceaseless dance from the top of the water to take a breath, and down again to the bottom of the pond where to hide in the muck down there.

Every so often, I admit, I forget that I’m sitting there merely to look. To study. To enjoy. I stick my paw in. Did you know that I’m right-pawed? Bet you didn’t know cats have a dominant front paw? Hope you were distracted and didn’t see me hook out a slow swimmer? I’ve caught quite a few already. They make a tasty little snack. I guess that egret knows what is what, after all.

But seriously, I’m helping to freshen up the gene pool. I’m helping to breed faster frog tadpoles.
The pernickety old woman caught me at it. Was she upset?
Ropeable, is the word. Like smoke came out of her ears. She’s banished me.

I’m at a loss what to do now. The deck is so boring when you know there’s all that activity going on in the pond. I should just run over there when she isn’t looking, hop up onto the coaming and pretend to be a statue.

Obviously that didn’t work. The pernickety old woman carried me back to the house and shut me in the sun-room while she’s gone to meet friends. Even lounging illegally on the red chair gives me no satisfaction.

I know that when she comes home and sees me on it, she’ll lift me up and drape a towel over the seat. She says it’s so I don’t shed black and white hairs over the furniture.

I don’t believe her. I think she does it to get a cranky look on my face that she’ll take a photo of. She doesn’t have a proper cranky expression yet in her collection, she says. I might’ve mentioned that couple in Japan who said cats can pull 257 different faces? The pernickety old woman and her friends are collecting cat expressions.