Let the Fur Fly

My garden has become the official battleground where nature has decided to re-enact the Crimean War.

Oh, I know the Crimean War was a long fought saga. But with all this rain and dirt, Crimean works better than relating this to the trenches that housed our soldiers in Dieppe. Although, the trenches may have been infested with the same animals from the rodent Geomyidae family, as well.

It’s a toss up-- Crimean War or WW2 orgin.

The point is my garden has now been seized as a battle zone.

My sidewalk is no man’s land.

And I am an innocent villager being pillaged by the effects of this horrible war.

The ground is no longer mine.

But we still gather to watch what is happening. We are, if nothing else, avid spectators.

Gopher flies through the air. Point for cat.

Cat dodges agilely and is left sticking its paws into a hole, maddeningly empty-handed. Point for gopher.

It goes on like this all day.

It makes for great discussion and lively activity around our little house. You can’t be in the kitchen and not look out the window and wonder what will happen next.

We’re all thinking it: when will the carnage begin?

I’m trying to do a little reconnaissance of my own.

I’m looking to start an underground resistance. Not a literal one because, as we know,the underground is occupied. I’m starting to strategize on how I can kill two birds with one stone.

I’m calling it Operation Fur Fly.

My objective is simple: end the drama of this cat and gopher game and finally plant the rest of my garden.

Sweet pickles that will bring me comfort in the dead of winter are depending on my plan of attack. So is the wanting-to-be-made strawberry jam.

And my spinach desperately needs back up.

My brave spinach.

The battle rages on.

I’ll keep you posted.