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It has been quite some time since I had to get up at 5AM to try to find my socks and pants and a flashlight so that I can stagger out into the slippery night to break up a battle on the porch before it really gets underway. I guess the universe thought we went too long so there I was at exactly 5AM trying to get from the back of the house to the front before the boys would come to blows (all without slipping and breaking my arm).
It was Spatz and Orange Boi again, of course. (And Spatz is now Spatz with a Z, not an S, because he told me so over dinner last night, in many, many meows.) I actually wasn't pissed this time, as I was having some seriously weird anxiety dreams anyways, so out into the cold, icy world I shuffled. 5AM is a weird time to me. I am a night person who marvels at humans like my mom or my friends, Kim, Dr. Hillary and Paulette, who just naturally seem to rise at obscene hours. Malik gets up then as well, and rearranges furniture and carries his kills (dishtowels) to ledge over the fridge. He comes back to bed with me again by 7 though, for one more nice nap before it is time to get up for real. But 5AM is when the neighbors rooster starts crowing, and apparently when the ferals start fighting. I grab a small cup of cat food on to take out with me to distract the boys (all the Furrals know the sounds of the crunchies rattling in the plastic cup). I shoo Spatz off the porch and tell him to go to his Hole and he heads that direction. He is no longer fearful of me following him, and even nicely waits by the bowl for me to put the food down. He will be easy to catch (I hope) next week when it is time to get him fixed. The problem is that the Furrals think this is always some sort of nighttime promenade. Gimpy, Orange Boi and Mommy follow me when I am send Spatz to his shed. Because, you know, exactly what I need at 5AM, in the dark, on an icy driveway, is one butthead boy cat trying to barge into the territory of another one (so we could have the reverse of what I just broke up). So I have to put the flashlight in my pocket, pick up Orange Boi (who is a marvelously solid, if stocky, cat) and walk clear around the house again so that the feline parade ends up back home where they can all, hopefully, go back to bed so I can at least try to get a few more hours sleep. The orange meatball head loves to be held and wiggles around in my arms purring, making it even harder to navigate the icy pavement while Gimpy twines around my ankles. Eventually they were all in their places (and Daddy Cat is definitely using one of the cat houses now), and I walked back to the house myself. In the distance I could hear a dog barking and another massive cat fight up on the hill opposite us. I wonder which of the neighbor boys are going at it. There are three younger ones in that direction (maybe four if the little orange one Gimpy had last year is still around) and at least 2 more older ones (including one of the originals who was formerly a "pet"). I didn't really sleep much when I went back to bed, even with my three kittons curled up all over me, but I could at least soak up the Savannah love while laying there wondering why any living creature thinks 5AM is a good idea.
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AuthorSavannah Caretaker who is honored to do the job. The Merry Rosette participates in the Amazon Associates program and a small commission is earned on qualifying purchases. This revenue goes towards helping to feed the Furrals!
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