The Rhino House provides food & shelter to a cat. The cat is called Buster (after the actor Buster Crabbe) & even by the undemanding standards of feline cognition he is, shall we say, a little deficient. It is a bright & sunny, though chill, Autumn afternoon & Buster has climbed onto the roof of the Jeep parked outside the garage that is behind the Rhino House. Apart from several failings in the intelligence department, Buster is also not agile; since we have been acquainted he has been hit by a car, had half his face ripped off by a badger (probably) & been chased repeatedly by deer & other local wildlife (including a family of partridges) – so climbing onto the roof of the Jeep represents a significant investment of time & effort. The Jeep roof is, in spite of the effort required, a desirable place for Buster, as it affords him clear views of the surrounding countryside, it is soft, safe from casual encounters with wildlife (including other cats) & allows him to sleep in the sunshine (or the rain, depending on the day) in solitary comfort.
As I am sitting preparing this blog I notice that Buster now has company, a very large red squirrel (& I mean huge, by red squirrel standards) is sitting on the roof of the garage, maybe a metre from Buster’s chosen resting spot. The squirrel is seriously pissed & is making his displeasure obvious. While Buster is trying to assume a casual air of insousiance, I can see that he is plainly concerned & completely baffled. Now the local wildlife knows Buster to be “all mouth & trousers”, he would have difficulty in catching a slug, even when sprinting, he cannot manage changes in direction & has the hunting skills more usually associated with lettuce. For all this he has claws & a (reduced number) of sharp teeth, & the squirrel is dangerously close to an unfortunate encounter that will almost certainly result in damage to them both. It is time for me to put down my glass of, very passable, wine & don the mantle of “man of action & friend to all creatures”.
Short hiatus.
Calm has returned. The large red squirrel, who we shall call “Arnie” for no very subtle reason, is now removing the previously undetected cache of walnuts from the guttering of the garage, albeit noisily & with little good grace, & Buster is relaxing by sitting on the driveway & examining his left-front paw with the intense interest warranted by something he has clearly never seen before.
If I had still been in my apartment on the New Jersey shore, I would today be swimming back to Europe.
Funny thing life.
ThursdayAgain 
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