Sounds Of Crunching In The Night
I have to get some crunchy cat food from my favorite pet food store in nearby Hanover Township. There’s probably an official name for the stuff, like “dry food,” but that sounds so, well, dry. Crunchy sounds like it sounds, especially in the middle of the night when I think there are a thousand termites taking part of the floor with them.
Cats are nocturnal by nature, although you’d never know it by this one. She curls up on top of the entertainment center, right above the tv, and seldom ventures out except to stalk prey in the night hours. And stalk she does; down from the heights, across the floor into the kitchenette to her bowl full of crunchies. After she has taken down a few, as a cat takes down small animals in the wild, she either sits in the window rejoicing in her abilities as a hunter gatherer, or returns to her perch as a proud stalker of nighttime denizens of the forest.
She is good at snatching fish from the nearby river. In her case, the river runs through my refrigerator, which she tries in vain to open. One of these days, she will learn how to do it and not depend on me to help her grab the salmon, or other species of piscatorial splendor. At 11:00 each morning and 10:30 each evening, she feels the ancient urgings to head riverward to where the fish head upstream to spawn. Upstream through that cool box next to my sink.
She has the local SPCA on my phone’s speed dial, just in case I am five minutes late feeding her or providing her with the morning or evening snack. Otherwise, contentment reigns.
Cats are nocturnal by nature, although you’d never know it by this one. She curls up on top of the entertainment center, right above the tv, and seldom ventures out except to stalk prey in the night hours. And stalk she does; down from the heights, across the floor into the kitchenette to her bowl full of crunchies. After she has taken down a few, as a cat takes down small animals in the wild, she either sits in the window rejoicing in her abilities as a hunter gatherer, or returns to her perch as a proud stalker of nighttime denizens of the forest.
She is good at snatching fish from the nearby river. In her case, the river runs through my refrigerator, which she tries in vain to open. One of these days, she will learn how to do it and not depend on me to help her grab the salmon, or other species of piscatorial splendor. At 11:00 each morning and 10:30 each evening, she feels the ancient urgings to head riverward to where the fish head upstream to spawn. Upstream through that cool box next to my sink.
She has the local SPCA on my phone’s speed dial, just in case I am five minutes late feeding her or providing her with the morning or evening snack. Otherwise, contentment reigns.
posted by Tom Carten at 1:43 AM
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