Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Thinkin' of Them's Workin' Up My Appetite, Lookin' Forward to Four More Visual Delights.

My day has been filled with visual delights. I bemoan the fact that I am not a photographer.

Nine Mowers Mowing
On the way to town, I pass by one of the local prisons. This correctional facility has a procedure for mowing the grounds that I think of as gang mowing. They were out in full force this afternoon. The guard, in his brown uniform, on his green John Deere riding mower with the hand controls rather than a steering wheel, was out in front. Behind him, staggered like fighter jets in V formation, came eight inmates on their red generic mowers of the same type. They, however, were clad in prison gray and white, with white face masks like protective cups strapped over their nose/mouth area. We wouldn't want them to inhale dust while toiling in the fresh air, I suppose. Those mowers were flying! The colorful crew in motion looked like a Mario Kart video game.

Rooftop Surfing
I witnessed an older-model, dark-blue car with a black vinyl roof pull out of a Burger King parking lot. Perched over the driver's head, on the outside of the car, mind you, was a cup of soda. With a straw. The car rolled downhill on the lot, braked briefly, and made a right onto the road. The cup did not move. As the car accelerated to the thirty mile-per-hour speed limit, the cup fell backward. That's all. It did not roll. It did not leave the car roof. It lay at rest as the car continued. I lost sight of them before my light turned. Even though I followed that route myself, I never found the cup. Did the driver hear it topple, and reach up to reclaim his beverage? The pavement told no tales.

Turkey (sort of) in the Straw
Rounding the S-curve on my blacktop road home, I saw that a local cattle farmer had baled his hay field. The red tractor and pronged hay-comber (that's what I call it, anyway) had been in the bovine-vacated field yesterday. They were still present today, with the addition of many giant round hay bales. Perched on one was a regal black bird. It was bigger than a crow. Fuller. A turkey! Sitting right on top of the big bale. I hit the straight section of the road and stole another look at that magnificent specimen. It was a turkey buzzard. The rubbery red head gave him away.

Two Cats a-Snoozing
We have two male cats of the orange-striped variety. One is more orange, one is more tan. It's a subtle difference, unless you recognize them like your own family. They were nodding in the gray wrought-iron porch chair, intertwined with each other, eyelids mostly closed. They made a fluffy geometric pattern of light and dark stripes. Two heads, six legs, and one tail were on display.

I miss Genius and his fancy-schmancy camera.


Joanne said...

I used to have to rather identical cats who slept in one ball. I called the ball the incredible two headed cat.

Sioux said...

We once had a tan tabby and a gray tabby. Both snuggled together.

Cats know how to live life, don't they?

Donna Volkenannt said...

Very descripting post. And who says turkeys aren't smart?

Linda O'Connell said...

That soda cup sounds like a Candid Camera trick. Miss my kitty. Have a great weekend.

Stephen Hayes said...

No one ever looks as relaxed as a cat sleeping.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Martha, the male kitten, is having a trying day today. There is a swimmer in her 20's whose grandmother brings her to the pool and watches her (clue #1). The girl is, shall we say slow. She approached me about purchasing Martha ..... Martha does not like this girl. I declined the offer to purchase a kitten I had all but breast fed. Everytime time she comes, she torments Martha. Today Martha bit her and clawed her. Gave me such satisfaction!

Val said...

I tend to call mine fleabags. They do not seem to take offense.

Cats don't worry about what people think of them. You can embarrass a dog. But not a cat.

Hick has (allegedly) killed three turkeys. Unintentionally, of course. They were not smart enough to get away while the gettin' was good. One of them spent hours every day admiring himself in the truck bumper. He kind of reminded me of Hick.

Something was not right about that cup. I smell a conspiracy.

It's like they have no bones in their bodies. They're like striped fur bags.

Val said...

You sly devil, you snuck that comment past me while I was responding!

Little Mr. Martha would be wise to beware. Hick had a company cookout here several years ago, and my very first cat ever disappeared the next night. Funny how a teenage daughter of one of Hick's coworkers had been asking all night if I wanted to give her my cat. What kind of person does that? One who conspires against Val, that's what kind.

That little cat was about half grown, a whitish calico, who liked to climb up my shoulders onto my head. That's right. Her favorite perch was on top of my head, her tail swinging back and forth in front of my face like a freaky kitchen clock with rolling eyeballs.