Celebration Time

This is a post about celebrating accomplishments.

First, let's talk about two of my friends from the Brazen Hussies: Sloane Taylor and Yasmine Phoenix. Both ladies live in the Chicago area and both have just uploaded their new websites. Find them at www.yasminephoenix.com and www.sloanetaylor.com. Sloane recently was named a finalist in the CONNections contest in both the Spicy/Sensual category and in the CONNections Award category for best first meeting. Yasmine is soon to graduate from a real estate appraisal program she's been working hard to complete.

Then, we have an accomplishment a little closer to home. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you'll know that I share my study with two cats: sixteen-year-old Tribble (aka the paperweight) and one-year-old Bob. Bob has proven to be a fearless hunter. My neighbors lure him into their yards by offering him treats because he has put such a dent into the neighborhood rat population. I pointed out that I was the one disposing of the numerous carcasses that Bob proudly leaves at my door, but no one offered me any treats.

We live in north Texas in a forest teeming with wildlife. The first creature I saw upon returning home from the closing at which I bought my house was a tarantula the size of a dinner plate sunning himself on my driveway. I kept going.

Since that time, I've learned a lot about tarantulas. I have four teenage boys living next door and they have contributed to my education by capturing and bringing spiders and other nasty critters for me to admire. Now that the boys are outgrowing their interest in crawly things, Bob has stepped up to take their place.

The kitten (he's just fourteen months) has brought home rats and squirrels almost as big as he is. However, he's been unable to nail a tarantula. I've watched him fishing in their holes but, unfortunately for him, they're canny little architects that plan ahead by digging both an entrance and an exit.

Yesterday afternoon, Bob started howling at the front door. By now, I recognize his "Come see what I've got" cry so I took my time in answering the door. There sat Bob with a live tarantula about the size of my palm. True to his feline nature, Bob was letting the tarantula move a few inches and then corralling it again.

As much as I dislike tarantulas, I couldn't stand there and watch the cat torture the thing. I started squealing congratulations and asked Bob if he'd like a treat. He knows the word treat, and followed me through the door, which I quickly shut. Four treats later, Bob remembered his trophy. Of course, by then the spider was gone.

The cat was outraged, but I was relieved not to be disposing of a big hairy clump of road kill.

I guess the old axiom that "no man is a hero in his own home" applies to cats, too.