Presents and the forgotten

This morning I was reminded of the idiosyncrasies of animals who live in the great outdoors. Charlie, mentioned previously here and here, is an outdoor cat. He shuns most of the rituals domesticated cats crave (a regular feeding schedule, loyalty, etc.) and is still, for the most part, feral.

I went outside through the basement this morning to water all of the plants with the hose. Keeping up with this wretched heat and the even more offensive heat index is misery, and it took a while to revive all of the plants. I must have left the basement door open because when I went back through the basement, I saw an orange blur sprint across the basement and across the stairs. After reassuring myself that I had closed the door leading into the house, I was able to lead Charlie back outdoors where he belongs. Skip has made serious threats about what would occur -- to both Charlie and me -- if Charlie is allowed indoors. We have had indoor pets previously, but Charlie, again, is not of the indoor ilk. It would be like having a bobcat perched on the sofa.

Anyrate, so Charlie was back outdoors. Don't feel too sorry for him, he has a shaded front porch to lounge on, and I have been giving him a big bowl of ice water every day.

Our routine is that Charlie appears on the front porch, outside of the kitchen casement door, sometime during breakfast. At that time, I will deliver Sir Charles his morning food and refresh his water. This morning, for whatever reason, he never materialized. After the basement incident, I came upstairs to get his food, assuming he would make the move from the basement to the front. Long story short (too late for that, I know), Charlie left a "present" on the porch in the form of a mouse. I know I'm supposed to feel honored that Charlie delivered food for me, but oh man, it's just so disgusting.

I am reminded of a cat that my mom used to have. I don't recall the cat's original name (something cute like... Whiskers, Boots, or Kitty... something like that), but it was promptly changed to "Trouble". Trouble would avail himself of the doggy door and would bring birds and other various wildlife into the house. His encore involved bringing a baby rabbit into the house. All of these incidents quickly turned into an amateur animal rescue scene (the bunny survived, and the overall survival rate, while not 100%, was very, very high).

My point with all of this is that my philosophy has always been that the pets should have a consistent environment. In or out. Once they straddle the line between life on the outside and trying to live indoors, something snaps inside them, and they simply cannot do it. They start to think, "Well, I've captured this rabbit so naturally I am going to take it inside so everyone else can see it, too."

I congratulated Charlie for catching the mouse and have thanked him for delivering it to our family. For him, I'm sure it was anti-climactic. For me, I am dreading the removal process that will occur at some point today.