I think my animals are messing with me.
My husband has been out of the country these past two weeks leaving me here to hold down the fort.
And history has shown that bad things always happen when he's gone.
I thought this trip's "bad thing" was going to be sick dogs, but while they had to miss a few days of daycare, they avoided catching what was going around.
Whew.
Bullet dodged.
Yeah, it's never that easy.
It started one evening last week when Floyd's attention was riveted to the baseboard under the TV cupboard. He not only stared, but paced back and forth as if moving along with something. Then Henry joined him, staring and pacing.
We had some mice in the house last fall and were able to eliminate them without too much trouble.
Or so I thought.
My daughter heard rustlings and gnawing sounds in the closet ceiling off the upstairs bathroom a couple of months ago, but no more mice showed up and I figured it was a fluke; either that or another bat infestation.
Either way, there wasn't anything we could really do about it unless the suspects appeared, which they hadn't.
Now my baseboard-staring cats were creeping me out.
Henry moved to the next room, his icy gaze focused on a different wall.
Then Bertie, our ferocious hunting basset hound, with baby birds, bunnies, and almost a squirrel to her credit, leaped to attention. Her nose instantly to the floor, she made her way over to the same area, staring and whining.
We couldn't hear anything in the walls nor did we find any outward signs of mice.
All we could do was, like the cats, wait and watch.
My creeped-out factor rising, I knew better than to ignore this hunting behavior.
You see, Henry and Floyd have a hunting conquest of their own.
Late one summer night last year, also when my husband was traveling by the way, I heard what sounded like a really big bug buzzing in my room. But it was dark and I didn't want to wake up the dogs so I pulled the covers over my head and fell back to sleep.
In the wee hours of the morning the next day my daughter woke me up. "Mom, there's a bat in my room."
Henry and Floyd had cornered what was likely a little brown bat - which, believe me, doesn't seem so little when it's trapped behind your bedroom door. I value bats and think they are fascinating creatures, but I would just as soon avoid any up-close-and-personal encounters.
I was ready to tell my daughter to open her window screen, grab the cats, shut her bedroom door, and climb in bed with me, when my son, who happened to still be awake and was in a good mood, offered to catch and release. Turns out, my daughter had heard a weird buzzing, too. That little bat had apparently spent more than a day in the house, likely roosting in her curtains.
So you see, my paranoia is not totally unfounded.
Then last night, Fern, our mighty indoor huntress, with chipmunks and large spiders, and unfortunately a gerbil or two to her credit, jumped down off the bed and started chattering. You know, the kind of chattering a cat will do when stalking a bird, or a mouse, or pretty much any prey. She was poised in crouch position staring under my bed.
Gulp.
I have learned not to ignore Fern's hunting signs.
Years ago I lay in bed in the early morning listening to Fern race back and forth under the bed. I didn't think much of it, though she sure kept running back and forth, back and forth, for a really long time. I assumed she was probably just playing with a toy or something on the floor.
Did I say it was early in the morning?
Then I got up.
Lying in a bedraggled heap by the door was tiny little Jasmine, my youngest daughter's gerbil. Fern had apparently run the poor thing to death underneath my bed while I lay above listening to the slaughter.
So it didn't take me long to put two and two together this time - she had something trapped under my bed! I frantically called my daughter, who indulgently shone a flashlight under the bed to reveal... nothing.
Nothing we could see, that is.
So today I'm trying really hard not to read too much into my animals' suspicious behavior. The dogs are at daycare and I'm home alone. Just me and the cats.
At least, I hope so.
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