Hunger Games with Squirrels

Everyone has a different relationship with nature. I very much enjoyed The Hunger Games, which I picked up around 2AM yesterday and finished around 4PM today. It was a surprisingly addictive book, but it reminded me that I would be very bad at a hunter/gatherer lifestyle. 

Katniss shoots squirrels and trades them for bread. I give squirrels bread. I worry that this is backfiring, though. I was sitting around drinking coffee when I happened to look up and see this: 

whisperwhisperBREADwhisperwhisper

This is what I get for sitting in front of windows. They know the food is inside, and they're starting to mobilize. I have seen single scouts scaling the door before, but this is the first time I've seen coordinated motion. In fact, I have never seen squirrels so close together without one chasing the other off. 

If there's going to be an invasion, I suppose I can take a few lessons on survival from The Hunger Games. Let's see, what did I learn from this book? 

Survival is easiest when nomming the flesh of cute things. 

Dying of thirst would suck. So would starving.

It would be stressful to play The Most Dangerous Game with high schoolers. 

I am incapable of reading the character with the accent the author uses for Katniss's narration.

I devoured the book in two days, but it didn't leave me hungry enough to get the sequel. 

Hm. 

Conclusion: if it comes down to a battle royale of me vs. the squirrels, I'll throw my cat at them and run. 

The cat, Comma.

The last few weeks have been trying. Between a death in the neighborhood, experiencing that earthquake (not far from the epicenter) all alone in my house, and days of hurricane rain, the silver lining has been the new old cat, the eight pound Comma.

It isn't a good day without a few condescending glares from the cat. 

But truth be told, we've been friends for a long time. About ten years ago she walked up to my neighbor's house and got their attention. She and about five kittens had been abandoned somewhere. Carrying the kittens, one by one, she brought them through the woods, across the fields, hiding them under shrubs to keep them safe. When she determined the neighbors could be trusted, she trotted out the kittens. The neighbors called her Mom, and kept her, though the kittens ended up elsewhere.

For years, she was a terror to rabbits and birds in the big field, but to me she was sweet and neighborly. Whenever I went for walks and found myself before the neighbor's house, this cat would trot down the driveway, and demand a pet. After much purring, she would start rolling around in the gravel, and I could make an escape to finish the walk.

A few weeks ago, the neighbor passed away tragically and unexpectedly from apparent heart attack. The cat didn't really seem to notice, but all of a sudden her options were us or the ASPCA. So we adopted this Mom-cat, and she's taken the changes in stride. It turned out to be too confusing to call her Mom, because we already call the raccoon Mom. Thus, Comma is a near-anagram for mom-cat. And besides, a comma is also a little pause. She has four little paws. The connection should be evident. In further support of the name, a comma is the exact shape of a sleeping cat.

Her hobbies include purring like a jackhammer and circling me while I'm sleeping, then headbutting my hands until I wake up and pay attention. If she hasn't ruined my sleep three times, then the night isn't over. In general, she is very interested in the feeding of squirrels, and was not in the least impressed by the earthquake.

I know you may not care about cats. You may even be a dog person. I mention dear Comma merely because cats are vital to a writer's cred. The two are always paired; this is proven, definitively, by the esteemed blog, Writers and Kitties.