The Dippy Cat

The Dippy Cat

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Sharks, Jets, and Raccoons

So, there is a raccoon turf war occurring on my patio.
Martha, the blind in one eye, toes missing from frostbite elder Momma raccoon has taken up residence in the feeding area. This is roughly equivalent to having the trash panda version of Blackbeard sculling around in your bathtub.
I don't toss Martha food- I hand it to her on a plate and hope she never figures out how door handles work. I once saw a possum kneel and kiss her ring.
Two young male raccoons, who I have taken to referring to as "Dumb and Dumber" or as "the raccoons soon to be late raccoons" decided to challenge her for the space.
As Martha isn't about to take crap from two want-to-be-Muppets, this was an idea somewhere in intelligence between "invade Russia in the winter" and "submarine screen door".
I am sitting at the work table and minding my own business when the snarling begins. Gently curious and ever ministerial, I glance out the door.
Martha has Dumb by one ear. He appears to be attempting either twerking or a rather determined escape. Whichever it is, it isn't working.
I take a sip of soda.
Dippy, never one to be left out, wanders over to the screen door and nods approvingly.
Dumber stands up in an effort to look menacing. Dippy snickers and lays down on her rug as Martha proceeds to pick up Dumb and calmly use him to beat Dumber about the head.
There is shrieking.
And some wailing.
There is a whirl of fur, with legs and eyes. Raccoons bounce off of the screen door in rapid-fire succession.
Martha is standing on Dumber. Dumb is standing on Dumber. Dumb and Dumber are trying to climb the screen to get away from Martha. Martha is wearing Dumb as a hat and riding Dumber in a circle.
Dippy begins to hop up and down on two legs- she appears to be flashing gang signs at Martha.
Martha picks up Dumb by the tail and begins to beat him against the side of the house. I think she is rolling a cigarette with her other hand.
Dippy falls over from sheer excitement. This is the ultimate in raccoon must see TV.
Suddenly there is silence. I hear what might be the theme from the Good the Bad and the Ugly.
Marshmallow steps onto the patio. There is a moment of frozen terror, and all hell breaks loose.
Raccoons explode in all directions- Dumb runs directly into the screen door and is rebounded backward. Dippy leaps at him- and gets stuck in the screen. She begins to scream.
Dumber begins to scream.
Marshmallow pounces, grinning.
It is over quickly.
Final count: Marshmallow 4, Martha 2, everyone else 0. I am not sure if Dumb and Dumber escaped or if they lay in pieces under the big chunks of raccoon hair on the patio. I am not looking.
Martha is taking a nap on the patio chair. Marshy is cleaning her foot and looking smug on the step.
And Dippy?
Dippy is purring.
This is the most fun she's had all week.

I Don't Care About Waldo- Where the Hell is Dippy?

Bedtime at our house is a family affair. A family with two toddlers- one teething and one in the terrible twos.
It normally is simple. We lay down. There is a lot of angry yowling.
Then there is running.
Then Dippy jumps on the foot of my bed with all of the grace of a hamstrung buffalo and flops over on her side and begins to chew on my toes. Nike jumps lightly and gracefully onto my bedside table and meeps. I move the blanket.
If I do not move the blanket, he will begin to pet my face- running his foot from my brow down over my lips and back again until I relocate the offending fabric, and he lays down against my head, and all is right with the world. He drools.
This morning at 4am I woke up. My glasses are in the bathroom. The room is full of fuzzy silhouettes. I feel no cat on my feet. There is no cat on my pillow.
Suddenly I hear running feet, and a hippo on roller skates bounds onto the bed. It yowls, and burrows under the covers, head first.
It stretches out down my bare leg, and puts all four paws against the skin.
I do not know which cat it is.
I edge sideways seeking escape. The paws wrap around my leg.
Someone is licking my kneecap. As it is not Brian, I am in serious trouble.
I shake my leg softly. I now have a cat with it's arms and legs wrapped completely around my thigh, conveniently near my femoral artery.
I begin trying to remember if I have made funeral arrangements.
A cat leaps lightly up on my bedside table and begins to knead my pillow. I still cannot see.
Oh dear God. It is Dippy under the blanket.
I wonder if last rites can be successfully self-administered.
I begin a combination of the Lord's Prayer and a Tibetan Prayer for the Dead.
I wonder if this t shirt will make a tourniquet.
The cat on my pillow bites my ear- hard- and steps onto my forehead. She proceeds to shove her foot into my mouth, and begins using my tongue for a pull toy. I have found Dippy.
The cat on my leg begins to drool.
And you wonder why I don't bother to go to bed early.

Vampire Zombie Shark A-go-go

I grew up on a steady diet of horror movies. This can occasionally prove interesting. Tonight was one of those occasions.
I go outside to do my normal feeding of the masses.
Miss Possum has some cat food.
I toss some bits for the turkeys to find in the morning.
I check the deer's salt.
Mr. Vole comes to examine the cat food.
Marshmallow eats Mr. Vole.
Nice normal evening.
I sit down on the step with my coffee, contemplating life, whether or not Mr. Vole had funeral plans, and how to train Marshy not to eat the other guests.
I glance back to the dark tree line.
Someone glances back.
A pair of glowing eyes blink.
I squint.
I can see a silhouette standing beside the tree.
It it the size of Chucky, or possibly the dead kid from Pet Semetary.
It blinks again. And takes a step towards me.
There was a long moment where half my brain was saying calm and rational things like "Gee I wonder what that is?" and the other half had begun the Exorcist's Prayer and was frantically trying to remember if bludgeoning werewolves over the head with a coffee cup had ever worked in a movie.
It took another step.
Realizing that this was one of those movie moments, where everyone else screams "RUN!" as some twit wades into the lake where the vampire zombie shark is waiting, I decided that this was the exact moment I wished to stand up and
move
very
quickly
back
into
the
house.
With dignity of course (and certainly not while spilling my coffee and tripping over my own feet.)
Before I had time to finish making a garlic necklace and remembering if demon children could open sliding doors the evil shape hit the edge of the lighted patio...
...and the blasted stupid huge male raccoon who never comes near the house decided that he was tired of walking on his back legs and it was time to drop back down onto all fours and walk the rest of the way to the catfood.
Memo to self: A huge male raccoon standing upright in the dark has the potential to cause heart attacks in unwary ministers.

If You Give a Cat a Brain Cell..

Step 1: New canvas panels arrive in a box
Step 2: Rejecting all wisdom and prior experience, decide that Dippy might perhaps wish to play with said box.
Step 3: Place box on floor by feet
Step 4: *Critical error step* Add catnip to box
Dippy sniffs box. Dippy cannot comprehend challenging concepts such as "inside" and "outside"- attempts to balance on folded box edge.
Dippy falls off box. Box flips over onto Dippy.
As Shakespeare would say "There were then divers alarums and great shriekings as of demons or small children under the age of three."
Pull box off of Dippy. Vacuum floor. Vacuum Dippy.
Bandage hand wound.
Remove side flaps from box. Return box to floor. Add more catnip.
Dippy sniffs box and falls over. I glance down as something suspiciously cardboard-like bounces off my ankle.
Dippy blinks- her foot, claws fully extended is stuck to the box. Before I can move she rolls, pulling the box over on top of her.
Pull box off of Dippy. Vacuum floor. Vacuum Dippy.
Bandage new hand wound. Write off catnip as a bad life choice.
Watch as Dippy climbs in box, and rolls over.
Box flips on top of Dippy.
She is purring.
My job here is done.