Dobby The Hunter

While sitting at my computer early this afternoon, I hear a ruckus right outside the back door. It’s a cat, or cats… I can’t quite tell how many. But they are not happy.

Our pampered felines Dobby and Hermione are sisters. Their tiffs are few and far between, usually consisting of overly twitchy tails, flattened ears, and a half-hearted bat or two with their front paws. Nothing to write home about. This incident on the back porch sounds serious. I get up to investigate.

I am half expecting to see two cats puffed up about the tail and spine, shooting daggers out of their eyes at one another. Perhaps they are fighting over something one of them found in the yard. Let me go break this up.

A glance out the window reveals only Dobby up against the door, squalling in disgust about something as yet unknown. Hermione has trotted off into the yard to put some distance between herself and her shrieking sister.

The wails continue. I open the door quickly, convinced now that Dobby is hurt. Is she covered in ants? Stung by a wasp? Bitten by a snake?

Dobby is hunched over guarding her front paw so that I cannot see what is going on. I try talking to her.

“Dobby! What’s wrong, girl? Let Mama see.”

Of course I talk to my animals. That is absolutely prerequisite for all crazy cat ladies, over-the-top dog lovers, and Dr. Doolittles of all ages.

Dobby raises up to a more normal sitting position. As she does so, she flings her front right paw violently. A nearly dead black anole lizard flies through the air into the corner by the laundry room and splats up against the vinyl siding.

OK, then. We weren’t really hurt at all. Just had buyer’s remorse after that pretty reptilian plaything bit down on our paw.

The wailing stopped as soon as the lizard was loose. The poor thing isn’t moving. Not certain if it is really dead or just playing possum. Dobby laid down next to it as if to guard it from those who would steal her booty. I guess hard lessons don’t stick long with cats.

After a short recovery period, during which time Hermione comes in and back out again, and Holly makes the rounds of the back porch area for good measure, Dobby is right back at it. Seems the lizard that bit her was one of several she’s tormented over the last few weeks.

Content to let the biter be for a bit, Dobby decides to go on a treasure hunt for the carcass of one she caught a few days ago. Last word from the back porch is that she’s batting about something small and white that vaguely resembles lizard bones.  But I’ve long since closed the back door and turned on the “No Vacancy” sign.

dobby-the-hunter

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