Of cats that won’t come in at night…and wasps that lurk in the doorway

Oh, Saturday…how we long for you from Monday through Friday and how you surprise us when you finally arrive.

Six a.m., a distant meow floats up to our open window.  I’m sure it was there all night, but for the life of me I wouldn’t have heard it over the crying baby and running parents next door.  So, on this fair Saturday when the temperature has reached 78℉, Felina Diva 2 has been profoundly offended by our neglect.  Felina Diva 1 has been tee-heeing at FD2 when she hasn’t been napping on the rocking chair by the open sliding glass door.  FD2 has hissed, meowed and tried to kill me (by tripping me down the stairs) a few times.

It is now almost 8 PM and there is no way either cat will be anywhere near the sliding glass door in the basement level.  Last night, as we watched Muriel’s Wedding, FD1 came over and made a lame attempt at getting our attention.  By the time we went to bed, at nearly 11 PM, she felt she’d done as much as could possibly be expected in the name of her “sister” and she curled up to sleep on a chair.  I am sure a great deal of time was spent sitting at the window, smiling malevolently at the other cat as it meowed and knocked on the glass.  (I’ve watched Lady and the Tramp…I know what cats are capable of, even if they’re not Siamese.)

If we thought the offended cat was a problem, that is because we had yet to try to sweep the front porch.  After J had gone for his outing in town, we came home to do the usual Saturday chores.  We filled out the larvae order form for his butterfly garden, put away the groceries and, when we were done with other menial tasks, J ran upstairs and hid in his room, listening to music.  Once he saw the bottle of window cleaner, the duster, a roll of paper towels and I put Jim Croce into the CD player he knew I meant business.  He made himself scarce.

The one thing we managed, on this fine, fine day, was to take him for a short walk…but we had to take him out the back because, regrettably, Spring has brought around The Wasps.  I don’t mean Aristophanes’ play…I mean actual, angry, very territorial wasps.  OK…it was only ONE wasp, but she meant business.  She REALLY meant business…she was fierce…she was angry…she was faster than any of us.

She was also significantly smaller than any of us, but she has a STINGER!!!!!!!  That we had no wasp-killing spray was a sad development.  Try making a wasp woozy by spraying it with Lysol Disinfectant Spray, please.  She’ll smell antiseptic, but it’s not going to deter her from her mission of taking over the porch.  Try spraying her with Suave Volumizing Hair Spray.  That doesn’t go very well either…especially with all the neighbors watching (and laughing) from behind curtains and blinds.

There is a reason why Homer came up with The Iliad…the Trojan War was actually quite rock and roll.  (I double-dog dare you to not cry, seriously.)  All those spears, all those men…all those ships…  There are no brooms involved in The Iliad.  There was a broom flying like a spear while The Wasp gave me the strangest look I’ve ever seen in such small eyes.  She flew away.  I think it was more out of frustration than fear.  Perhaps it was that she was going, as my husband said, to look for reinforcements.  Also, it could also be that she was telling her other insect friends about the crazy lady (and gentleman…my husband wanted to kill her with a copy of Bon Appétit) that chased her around while running away from her.  We suspect she actually told the whole bug world about us because, as we got ready to cook dinner, three rather large bumblebees were floating in front of the kitchen window, looking at us and laughing.

It may seem to you that bumblebees cannot possibly laugh, but these were laughing and pointing.  Even J found it entertaining to watch them staring at me through the glass.  He wouldn’t open the door, of course, because they are much smaller than he is but he IS more scared of them than they are of him.

All this begs the question: how do we know that the butterflies won’t turn against us?  We don’t.  We’re hoping they’ll be friendly butterflies.  We’re hoping J will intercede for us…he has a way with butterflies.  They will come to him and land, maybe because his hats give a rather floral impression or, perhaps, it’s the whole Ferdinand the Bull thing.

So…we are equipped with seeds for flowers, a butterfly garden, garden soil, containers for plants and, obviously, all the insects that can make anyone’s spring and summer complete.  J is enthused.  He picked packets of nasturtiums and morning glories; he carried the bag of soil; he is starting to feel animated when he sees the sunshine.

I hear a humming sound in the distance…I really hope it’s a plane heading towards the municipal airport.  The alternative, well…I don’t have enough volumizing hair spray to combat a whole horde of angry (or mocking) wasps…


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