Bad Choice

I am channeling all the spooky, hob-goblin-y, Halloween attitude with a few black cat stories, here is todays bit…

Screamin’ Chicken has gone from a , jittery, scrawny, scared, wisp of a creature to a secretive dweller of trees and hidey holes around the shop. When she hears my rendition of her favorite song, she comes scampering at full speed to get some attention and hopefully some food.

She has been my companion, underfoot most of the time, as I gather a cabbage, some carrots, a hill of potatoes, fruit off the fall fruiting trees or attempting to salvage filberts before the J-birds abscond with the last of the crop.

Screamin’ Chicken simply loves to be as close as she can when I am walking in the garden but she is still very wary when I am by the dog tethers or away from her safe spots for the bigger feral cats still stalk and try to attack her.

I was cracking some of the last of the filberts, taking advantage of a break in the rain, while Screamin’ Chicken wound figure eights around my legs, attempted to climb my five foot aluminum ladder and kept chasing after bits of shell that would fly from my hands as I cracked nut after nut. When she finally tired of her games, she sat and groomed to wait for me to pay attention to her.

She should have picked a better spot.

I noticed that out of all the spots she could have waited, she found the scoop of the dog’s pooper-scooper the right fit for her.

She sat comfortably in the sunshine as she tried to look model perfect so I would notice her. Then when I did, I told her in no uncertain terms that she could have picked a better place to set her caboose.

She ignored my chiding and set about cleaning all her spots while staying rooted to the pooper-scooper.

This is not a spooky story at all but it did give me the heebie-jeebies enough to refuse to pick up or pet the cat that had so blatantly exposed herself to nastiness of the canines.