Canine Capers 8

It was mid morning when we heard the ruckus.

Our crow friends were back on the wire, and although we couldn’t really hear what they were saying, it was apparent they were either telling a story, having a fight, or trying to get attention. We couldn’t tell which, but they were doing something in the loudest possible way.

M and I had been happily snoozing up till that point and were not really interested in finding out what they were going on about. But they persisted, and we felt that if we were to have any peace today, there was no choice but to go outside and get the lowdown.

Carli Crow was there with her pals, E. A. and Cheryl. They were looking down at the large ginger cat who lives a few doors down from us. Clearly they were not happy.

“What’s the big problem,” snapped M. Clearly he was not happy either.

“That cat. He’s skulking around.”

“So?” persisted M.

“Well, he looks like a bit of a bully,” they scoffed. “And he walks around as if he owns the place. We think that maybe he’s responsible for some of the strange stuff going on in this neighbourhood.”

I was surprised to hear the crows so insistent, but then M reminded me that one of Cheryl’s babies fell victim to a cat once. Not this particular cat, but a cat, nonetheless.

And then, before anyone else could say anything, the cat spoke up.

“Why do you paint us all with the same brush?”

He looked quite sad, and I felt sorry for him. I know what it’s like to be blamed for something that someone else did. Right, M?!

The cat continued, obviously a bit miffed by the accusation. “I was just out for a walk before it gets too hot.” He lay down and rolled on his back, all innocent like. “I honestly wasn’t looking to bully anyone or do anything mean or scoundrelly. In fact, I’ve actually given all that up — getting old, you know. I’m more into relaxing and reclining these days. I don’t even bother to chase mice, much to my owner’s chagrin!”

He looked rather pleased about his retirement.

The crows, however, looked a bit ashamed of themselves. E. A. looked away and Carli looked up. It was Cheryl who actually spoke.

“We’re sorry, Mr Cat. We didn’t ...”, but the cat interrupted.

“Actually, I think I should apologise for what that other cat did. He was from out of town, no friend of ours, and all of us in this neighbourhood felt bad for you. Will you accept our apology?”

Carli nodded. I think she might have even blushed a little, but we’re not sure how to tell if a crow is blushing.

For the next few minutes, we chatted about all the weird things going on in the neighbourhood and how everyone had pulled together in the past few days to help out. They all seemed excited about our agency — still nameless, but we are working on it.

Later on, M and I were talking about the entire conversation, particularly the ‘painting with the same brush’ thing.

I wondered aloud. “Why don’t we — as in dogs and birds in general, and even a few humans — like cats? From what I’ve seen, unless a dog grows up with a cat, they simply don’t get along. And people tend to be either dog people or cat people, but not often both.”

M nodded, but couldn’t shed much light on the topic. “To be honest, I simply don’t know.” He thought for a minute and then added, “Although I did read once that cats are aliens in disguise, and Harley told me that he heard they were reincarnated celebrities hoping to live like royalty with a whole lot more lives. Now, that I can believe!”

We both laughed. “I guess the only way to find out is to actually take the time to talk to a cat and ask him. Or her.”

What do you think?

T