Early this morning, while drilling for black gold (aka coffee) in the kitchen, I scoped the woody patch beside our home in hopes of catching sight of deer. Cliques and claques of the graceful creatures roam our rural-suburban community to the delight of some residents and displeasure of others, but for whatever reason this season we haven’t seen as many as this time last year. My hunch: the paparazzi on the other side of the looking glass, i.e. me, annoy them with our constant attempts at conversation. Who wants to be bothered by a nattering nabob who’d rather take your picture than give you food?
I also spot them while driving the five minutes or so to and fro’ from the main road. I often stop to take in their sight and, on non-chilly days, am apt to lower the car window, wave and say, “Hey!” (I know, I know: I’m nuts.) One such moment came in June, when a lone doe was nibbling on grass or weeds (or whatever it is they eat) near the side of the street. I lowered the window and the gentle music spilling from the car’s speakers, Hayley Reardon’s “Good News,” seemingly entranced her for a good minute, maybe two. Her ears perked up and she stared in my direction, as if wondering what the sweet sound was.
Neighbors say they’ve heard coyotes howling in the distance while sitting on their fenced-in back porch at night. Another spotted what she thought was a bobcat about a year back; other than deer, however, we only spy plump squirrels, bunnies and house cats.
The Old Grey Cat 