Sap

It’s October. Sunrise isn’t until 6:47 AM versus 5:30 AM in mid summer -- the dawn precedes that, on clear days, by about an hour. I wake with first light.

Generally. That’s my habit anyway.

Now that I have a gig that’s a 30 minute trike ride from home, I don’t need to be rise at 4 each morning so that I have time to slop the herd, check email, take a walk and paint a bit before slogging through horrendous rush hour traffic. I could even sleep ‘till six on these dark autumn mornings.

Coco doesn’t seem to understand this. Possibly she just doesn’t care. Heartless kitten.

Lately she’s begun working on me a smidge earlier each morning. I imagine she gets that when I say ‘five more minutes, just five more please,’ what I really mean is 60.

Normally, she leaps onto the bed and, like Superman landing with authority and panache on some flimsy Metropolis warehouse roof, she plops down on my kidneys.

That, often as not, gets me motivated out of our nice warm bed within a few minutes. Not today though. It’s another chilly, wet, no sun morning -- I was totally NOT going to part with my toasty flannel sheets.

She was quite insistent though and decided that sitting ON MY NECK would work a treat.

Yup, it did.

 Just as well that I was up -- Rocco, Gus and Gaston were already on the porch with G & G going toe to toe. As usual. I rustled up their morning kibble and Fancy Feast and went back to perusing my email.

A few minutes later I decided to check on the boys (AKA fuss endlessly) and found Rocky the Raccoon, an occasional visitor, eating out of Gaston’s bowl with Gus and Rocco looking on all cautious and nervous. Oof.

Gaston, smartly (but surprisingly), had taken off instead of performing his usual Get The Fuck Away From My Food aria.

I stepped out on the porch trying to look all threatening and shit. Did it work? Not really. Rocky looked up at me, allowed that he was hungry too and could I please cut him some slack and he’d truly be no trouble at all and...and...

I’m such a colossal sucker for a furry creature with a sob story.

I stood there with Rocco and Gus -- they weren’t cowering beside me so much as making sure that I’d get nailed first if the Rocky decided to get nasty.

And then another, smaller raccoon arrived and tried to horn in on Rocky’s breakfast. A slap fight with, it appeared, major hissing ensued.

At this point I had to become more involved and stepped forward with what I hoped was a great, looming, frightening presence.

Feature this, I’m in my pastel mint colored, flannel cat imprinted, PJs (yup, mighty fearsome so far) shaking a finger at and scolding a pair of raccoons as though they were fearful, badly behaving teens.
Hilariously, they paid attention, cut the shit and Rocky II moved on.

I continued to stand there in all my towering, terror-inspiring splendor while fat boy finished up and then took off.

Everyone was doing the tension tango after that. Poor dears. I had to break out the catnip and tuna. Of course.