This shouldn’t come as a huge surprise. It takes his little red ass two months to find his way back. Of course, he, like most males of this planet, always have deeper motives when they explore. For similar reading, I suggest the rule book to the game ‘Risk’. And Curious George who wants to play King George in my front yard is no different.
He starts his journey rather casually. Tiptoeing gingerly on our side of the barbed wire at the top of our wall, he keeps his tail curled and his face alert, ready to answer the teeth of the barbed wire with a healthy little chomp of his own. He snarls at the wire before leaping straight up to grab a branch of my son’s favorite tree. Now his feet come into play as they grip the branch, and toes and fingers work in perfect harmony in assisting the ape to slide down the tree as smoothly as a firepole.
He is now eying the sandbox: why would human beings want to cover this up? Must be something buried under there. First crisis for the ape: our cat is starting to heckle him. Not a good idea. Our cat has been pulling this crap all of her life. She weighs no more than five pounds soaking wet, and yet she has picked fights with in short order, a flock of geese, one of the biggest dogs I have seen in my life, and an army of crows, formidable enemies who will take names and then seek to eliminate them. Our five pound cat must have found some good dope at sometime in her life, because she still thinks that she’s the biggest, baddest lion in the savanna. And yet, that cat will hurt too, as I can attest. She is bitching at him, like “My place, my place. Get out.” Thank God she’s kept a little distance, I am thinking. The ape circles the sandbox, now stretching his body a little more to relay to the cat what she would deal with should she continue this silly comedy.
I am happy to be safe in my room, watching from the second floor. This encounter has the potential to get very ugly. As in losing a cat to a damn monkey. Like radar, my cat’s head follows each one of the monkey’s motions. She is alert, the personified balance between attack and withdrawal. For now, she will stay right where she is next to the picnic table. This will be her territory to lose.
I exhale, but only for the fraction of a second. The monkey scrambles up the wall and steadies his stance just short of the barbed wire. Good, the cat’s bluff has worked. Damn it, I’m afraid not. The ape cartwheels from the top of the wall to the top of the generator and paws at the surface. The ape is beating the cat at her own game. Cats love looking down on you, whether you’re human, bird or rodent. The ape can now pick on the cat, should he so choose. But he’s not up for it. He yawns, twiddles with his toes and then in one quick motion leaps over the wall and rows of barbed wire to the paved road on the other side.
He walks a few steps before planting his rear end on the road, picking at something in front of him only he can see. He walks another block, slowly, feeling not threatened or hurried, and vanishes on an empty lot that is used around here for the resting place of construction workers.
So this was not really a rematch with the monkey. Hard to score this bout, since I was standing safely inside the house. I will still give myself a slight advantage, because his reaction to my cat’s attitude wasn’t very impressive.
I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble chasing an ape off our premises if I have to.
He starts his journey rather casually. Tiptoeing gingerly on our side of the barbed wire at the top of our wall, he keeps his tail curled and his face alert, ready to answer the teeth of the barbed wire with a healthy little chomp of his own. He snarls at the wire before leaping straight up to grab a branch of my son’s favorite tree. Now his feet come into play as they grip the branch, and toes and fingers work in perfect harmony in assisting the ape to slide down the tree as smoothly as a firepole.
He is now eying the sandbox: why would human beings want to cover this up? Must be something buried under there. First crisis for the ape: our cat is starting to heckle him. Not a good idea. Our cat has been pulling this crap all of her life. She weighs no more than five pounds soaking wet, and yet she has picked fights with in short order, a flock of geese, one of the biggest dogs I have seen in my life, and an army of crows, formidable enemies who will take names and then seek to eliminate them. Our five pound cat must have found some good dope at sometime in her life, because she still thinks that she’s the biggest, baddest lion in the savanna. And yet, that cat will hurt too, as I can attest. She is bitching at him, like “My place, my place. Get out.” Thank God she’s kept a little distance, I am thinking. The ape circles the sandbox, now stretching his body a little more to relay to the cat what she would deal with should she continue this silly comedy.
I am happy to be safe in my room, watching from the second floor. This encounter has the potential to get very ugly. As in losing a cat to a damn monkey. Like radar, my cat’s head follows each one of the monkey’s motions. She is alert, the personified balance between attack and withdrawal. For now, she will stay right where she is next to the picnic table. This will be her territory to lose.
I exhale, but only for the fraction of a second. The monkey scrambles up the wall and steadies his stance just short of the barbed wire. Good, the cat’s bluff has worked. Damn it, I’m afraid not. The ape cartwheels from the top of the wall to the top of the generator and paws at the surface. The ape is beating the cat at her own game. Cats love looking down on you, whether you’re human, bird or rodent. The ape can now pick on the cat, should he so choose. But he’s not up for it. He yawns, twiddles with his toes and then in one quick motion leaps over the wall and rows of barbed wire to the paved road on the other side.
He walks a few steps before planting his rear end on the road, picking at something in front of him only he can see. He walks another block, slowly, feeling not threatened or hurried, and vanishes on an empty lot that is used around here for the resting place of construction workers.
So this was not really a rematch with the monkey. Hard to score this bout, since I was standing safely inside the house. I will still give myself a slight advantage, because his reaction to my cat’s attitude wasn’t very impressive.
I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble chasing an ape off our premises if I have to.
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