The following story is taken word for word from Hubby's Facebook account. He told it better than I could have. ...(FYI: 1.the oranges are our two orange cats. 2.I am Sarah. 3. A shillelagh is a club of sorts 4. Joseph is seriously about 19 pounds. All muscle no jiggle. No lie. He is like a panther)
So about 9:30 tonight, the oranges were standing with their noses at the screen of the storm door, as they like to when the door is open. Suddenly, I hear some loud growling and hissing (cat fight) and came over to see what was going on. Rusty was walking away in a huff and Skittles was watching him. We've had these cats since they were little kittens and have never heard them fight like that before. I figured one of the neighborhood roamers had come to the door and Skittles growled at it which upset Rusty, who likes to socialize.
Fast forward to about 10. We were in bed when I heard what sounded like a squeak toy from downstairs. I don't believe we have any squeak toys, and I don't know if cats would/could use one as loud as it squeaked. I woke Sarah asking what the noise was (I didn't know she had fallen a sleep) and she made some groggy comments before rousing enough to respond she hadn't heard it. She probably was thinking by this point that I had finally gone over the edge (I did, after all, wake her up right after she had fallen asleep - something no sane person would do to mama bear). Then it squeaked again.
Sarah asked, "are the doors locked?" Great, up to this point I've been thinking the cats have found some old squeak toy I didn't know they could use, or even existed. Now I've got visions of psycho clown standing downstairs squeaking a toy to see who's dumb enough to come investigate the noise. And my shillelagh's two floors down!
So the person who was dumb enough to investigate the noise opened the door and headed down the hall. All silly nervousness was relieved by the sight of Joseph sitting calmly at the foot of the stairs. Joseph is the 17+ pounds of pure muscle with all four sets of claws that runs and hides whenever anyone comes to the door. If he's fine, then psycho clown got tired of waiting and already left the house (or was accepted as a member of the family - either would be plausible).
Downstairs, Rusty was on the table below the bay window actively looking outside. When I was a child I had an irrational fear of looking outside windows at night. I was convinced something would jump out in front of the window and scare me. Remember, Rusty is the social one. Psycho clown must be out on the front walk. Well, I bravely went and (carefully) peeked through the skinny window by the front door and flipped on the porch light. No psycho clown (phew!). No friendly happy clown either (double phew!).
Now with the confidence that the front walk and yard were free of any clowns, I boldly stepped next to Rusty to gaze out the bay window and see what he was looking at... Did something just move next to the tree? Oh wait! It's in the tree! It's much too small to be a clown, right?
I spent the next half hour trying to get the perfect picture. You'll have to wait until Sarah gets up tomorrow to see what I got instead.
For the record, I'm not really (usually) afraid of clowns.
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So the next morning I get up and upload the photos and post the following:
For those of you who read Charles saga of his daring encounter with a psycho killer clown and its nefarious plot with a squeaky toy...let me show you what REALLY happened.
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| The tree |
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| can you see it yet? |
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| he even smiled for the camera |
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