Roger That

After weeks of being cooped up, as Old Man Winter reared his ugly head last month, Roger the Cat is very happy to see warm temperatures return. 

There’s a renewed spring in his step, if you will. He is spending many hours in the outdoors exploring the wooded area behind our house. And one of his favorite spots is what we refer to as ‘the horseshoe stump’ in the back yard at the edge of the woods. 

The horseshoe stump is elevated so it gives him that regal feeling felines love to present. It is somewhat protected, lest he have to fend off any interlopers such as the mysterious black cat we heard rawling outside our house last week. Also, there is a great view of the bird feeder and myriad trees from which our feathered friends take flight.

In short, it’s a much better vantage point than the window in the dining room where, granted, he can see all of the above but feels much more, shall we say, detached. 

Speaking of the black cat, we heard the encounter the other night. I think this was Roger’s return to glory; his pronouncement that spring has sprung (even if it is officially a week away). 

That night, the intruder was trying to invade Roger’s territory.  I’m not sure how far it extends beyond our property line but I know it is out there somewhere.  I think we caught the very end of the exchange, the one in which our big orange cat punctuated the exclamation to his rival with one final “And don’t let the door hit ya on the way out” as the felonious feline ran off into the darkness.

Rog had successfully defended his turf. Message sent and received. 

Roger that.

This exchange marked a stark difference from the beleaguered version of our kitty just a few weeks back. I felt for Roger during the winter months, I really did. He was miserable. Our daily interactions - especially during the recent ice and snow events - played out like this:

• Roger - “Raah!” (his version of meow, loosely translated as “Get over here you dolt and open the door!”).
  
• Jeff (or Lisa) - “OK” (pause while Roger looks hopelessly at the winter wonderland), followed by our sing-song “1-2-3-4 Door Closing…” signal.

Sometimes we’d open the door and he’d just slump to the ground in despair. There was no way he was going to attempt to enter the blanket of the white stuff. 

Once, I grabbed up a handful and let him sniff it, which he seemed pleased about. He did the usual “bob and weave” as he evaluated the flakes. Then, disinterested, he turned away.

All of this changed, of course, once the rain and warmer temps melted away the last remnants of Snowpalooza ‘15. 

He has returned to his old self, asking to go outside and enjoying his romps through the yard and into the woods. 

It should be this way all spring long, throughout the summer and fall months until Jack Frost returns to nip at our nose. Then, once again, winter will return, the door will open and he’ll look at us with the telltale “You gotta be kidding me” expression.

Seasons of the year, you see, are marked by many indicators.

JG

Originally posted 3/12/2015