And the Plot Thickens...

The cat has got my tongue.

I’m not meaning to be glib, but it has.

I’m not apologizing or taking back what I have said about the cleverly disguised rodents called felines, but I will, hopefully in a few days hence, go so far as to say this:

Thank you, cat.

And that’s a great deal coming from me on this issue.

What has brought me to this point? Not a vision that has knocked me off my high horse, but a reality that is too strong to ignore.

I, once again, have been duped into thinking that the stray cats have had a penchant for my strawberries and spinach which lay in full sun.

If I had used my logic skills and connected the fact that they were here, lying in wait, even on rainy days, I may have deduced the following:

We have gophers.

Go ahead. Laugh it up. Diva needs redeeming once again!

Apparently, we have had a gopher living in our garden....right next to the spinach plants.

There is a neat little tunnel that suggests they are quite adept at excavation just like the nature books describe.

I was blind.

Not blind to the fact that cats are annoying. No, I am well aware of that fact. Some things you can’t paint over in life. This is one of them.

But I was blind to this existence of species descending from the RODENT family that has moved into our garden; as if we were members of a Beatrix Potter book and Peter Rabbit will be coming along any moment for tea.

They live in my garden!

But now, thanks to the cats: they live in terror.

I am willing, for the next few days, leastwise, to let the cats stay and kill and catch the intruders.

I figure it’s a more natural way of dealing with them than the age-old drowning method.

Plus, that particular method requires a bit more work than I am prepared to put forth at this moment in time. One must keep all manner of options available, but still use the course of action that requires others to work harder. (This is not a rule I live by in my life, but just a general observation).

The cats wrestle and try to catch the gopher. When they are successful and if, IF, they do not leave the remnants of the eaten carcass in my garden, then I will say thank you. But until that happens, the words remain on the tip of my tongue.

Out there remains my spinach.

My brave spinach.

The battle rages on.

I will keep you posted.