While raking in the main secret garden, sounds of chipmunk rage suddenly filled the air. Such a ruckus! Glancing around I saw Cat (who belongs to a family nearby) walking proudly toward the open alley gate carrying a limp chipmunk by the scruff of its neck. The tiny body swung gently as the feline moved along. Two agitated chipmunks followed Cat’s path from the top of the eight-foot fence. Rapid ‘chip-chip’ sounds expressed their distress as they helplessly dashed back and forth.
I looked closer. The chipmunk was dead, for sure. I was truly surprised. Cat is pretty ancient: I haven’t seen him climb, or move fast, for a very long time. But here was proof that he was still a formidable predator. Unfazed by the noise, puss strolled down the middle of the alley and disappeared into some shrubbery. Sadly I resumed raking amid the cacophony, which lasted a very long time.
It was a wake of sorts.
Hours later there came another round of rapid-fire chippie chatter. I looked up to see (the same?) two trembling chipmunks on my fence top glaring down into the thicket of lush hydrangeas. Dropping to my knees I peered under the big bushes. Cat sat directly underneath them, awash in chipmunk rage. Those tiny animals knew that the devil was sated for the moment, so they fluffed their fur, rocked up and down, and directed unprintable insults at their friend’s killer.
Their dagger-eyed glares brought fresh perspective to a tattered adage: if looks could kill, Cat would be mummified.
***
You may remember Emma, the rescued dog I wrote about some months ago, who has learned to relax into the unconditional love extended by her new family. (Review her two-part story here and here.) Dexter, their beautiful apricot cat, languidly welcomed Emma, who learned to cherish him. “He was her pet,” Les commented.
One evening, just over a month ago, Dexter didn’t appear at the front door at bedtime. Emma’s surprise turned to worry. The two animals had established a routine. Emma wouldn’t settle until everyone, including Dexter, was home. If someone stayed out late, she’d quietly wait by the door until the latecomer returned. She’d escort the person to bed; then cat and dog would curl up together by the fire and snooze.
So with Dexter missing, family members began a methodical search of the countryside. They drove up and down the winding roads, and walked the big fields for many days, calling Dexter’s name. Emma began nightly vigils by the door, and spent every day searching the property.
Dexter, though, has simply vanished. Coyotes, who yip and howl many nights, may have snatched him.
Emma is gradually coming to terms with her loss, and draws much comfort from family members, who give her extra attention. She’s eating better now, and has resumed chasing her beloved tennis balls, but she still mourns.
Family members brought home a kitten, who wanted no part of Emma, and so was given to another loving family.
Clearly it’s too soon. I think that eventually she will find another feline friend to love. Meanwhile, she’s managed to handle this loss with grace.
When I visited a few days ago she greeted me with something akin to relief; not everyone disappears.
“When we feel sad about Dexter,” Sarah mused, “Emma always senses it, and offers wags and a wet nose. Today she invited me outside for a walk; I did feel much better. We’re helping each other to cope.”
The pain of Dexter's loss for her human family and her, will, I think, gently heal with touches, time, and love.
I looked closer. The chipmunk was dead, for sure. I was truly surprised. Cat is pretty ancient: I haven’t seen him climb, or move fast, for a very long time. But here was proof that he was still a formidable predator. Unfazed by the noise, puss strolled down the middle of the alley and disappeared into some shrubbery. Sadly I resumed raking amid the cacophony, which lasted a very long time.
It was a wake of sorts.
Hours later there came another round of rapid-fire chippie chatter. I looked up to see (the same?) two trembling chipmunks on my fence top glaring down into the thicket of lush hydrangeas. Dropping to my knees I peered under the big bushes. Cat sat directly underneath them, awash in chipmunk rage. Those tiny animals knew that the devil was sated for the moment, so they fluffed their fur, rocked up and down, and directed unprintable insults at their friend’s killer.
Their dagger-eyed glares brought fresh perspective to a tattered adage: if looks could kill, Cat would be mummified.
***
You may remember Emma, the rescued dog I wrote about some months ago, who has learned to relax into the unconditional love extended by her new family. (Review her two-part story here and here.) Dexter, their beautiful apricot cat, languidly welcomed Emma, who learned to cherish him. “He was her pet,” Les commented.
One evening, just over a month ago, Dexter didn’t appear at the front door at bedtime. Emma’s surprise turned to worry. The two animals had established a routine. Emma wouldn’t settle until everyone, including Dexter, was home. If someone stayed out late, she’d quietly wait by the door until the latecomer returned. She’d escort the person to bed; then cat and dog would curl up together by the fire and snooze.
So with Dexter missing, family members began a methodical search of the countryside. They drove up and down the winding roads, and walked the big fields for many days, calling Dexter’s name. Emma began nightly vigils by the door, and spent every day searching the property.
Dexter, though, has simply vanished. Coyotes, who yip and howl many nights, may have snatched him.
Emma is gradually coming to terms with her loss, and draws much comfort from family members, who give her extra attention. She’s eating better now, and has resumed chasing her beloved tennis balls, but she still mourns.
Family members brought home a kitten, who wanted no part of Emma, and so was given to another loving family.
Clearly it’s too soon. I think that eventually she will find another feline friend to love. Meanwhile, she’s managed to handle this loss with grace.
When I visited a few days ago she greeted me with something akin to relief; not everyone disappears.
“When we feel sad about Dexter,” Sarah mused, “Emma always senses it, and offers wags and a wet nose. Today she invited me outside for a walk; I did feel much better. We’re helping each other to cope.”
The pain of Dexter's loss for her human family and her, will, I think, gently heal with touches, time, and love.