Where to begin--with the latest feline addition, or the avian intruder? Hmmmm... decisions, decisions...
So, yesterday was get-Rudy day. In true fashion, I was running quite late for the 7 p.m. drop-off, and I pulled into the driveway just as David drove past my house. Oh right, I took the house number off when I started painting. So I called him--one of those bizarre 21st-century situations where you find yourself talking on the phone to someone a few feet away, leading him into the driveway like it's a runway...
Anyway, I get Eddie, the neurotic wonderdawg, calmed down enough to lock out back, and David brings in the enormous carrying case with the magnificent orange tabby, Rudy. Rudy is not the least bit concerned that he is in a new house that smells like dog, cat, cat, cat, cat, and vaguely, somewhere in the background, tiger spray. We do the exchange of information--here's his medicine, this is the food he's used to... yadda yadda. Rudy eventually comes out of his box, and after David is gone, Rudy ventures forth. He is simply, totally unconcerned about the situation. He smells some corners, takes in the decorations, "Hmm. She went with a purpley gray in the hall..." and goes about his day.
Tolliver meanwhile, comes around the corner expecting everything to be normal, and OMG! He sounds the INTRUDER alert--sirens blazing, STRANGE CAT IN THE HOUSE--HE MUST HAVE COME IN THE BACK DOOR--GET HIM OUT GET HIM OUT GET HIM OUT!!! His tail is about four inches in diameter, his back arched, fur flying, the sirenous bawling-growling-intruder-alert screeching forth from his 12poundsthatyouwouldnowswearis40, and he is losing it.
Rudy, meanwhile, is inspecting a crack in the floor. "Hmm. A little bit of caulk'll clear that right up for you."
I pick up T-man and carry him to the food dish, intruder alert still blaring--oh food!! Sure, I'll eat some food--but his tail is still four inches HUGE, and he has a paranoid check-the-door-every-three-seconds behavior that continues while he simultaneously wolfing down every last bite of the super supper goo on his plate. After all, he may never eat again, right? Tail remains huge.
I get Rudy sequestered to the back bedroom and finally sit down in my room for a few seconds' rest and to change my clothes. In half a second I hear a hard-to-describe rustling noise. Faint enough to question whether it's real, and over so quickly. It's coming from a picture frame I've got propped up next to my dresser (don't ask--I've got crap everywhere since I "cleaned up" for the recent slew of holiday parties). I instantly remember the three teeny tiny grey feathers next to the dog's food dish when I went to get Tolliver's food, and I can easily guess the source of the rustling.
Remembering back to the terrifying babybunnyscaredmenearlytodeath episode a few years ago, I decide quite firmly that the rustling sound was indeed my imagination, and if I close my ears to it, nothing will happen, and I will be able to get my jammies on and go to sleep and there will most definitely NOT be a bird in my bedroom. After all, I can't see it. And sometimes, I even glance over in that corner for half a second or so. Definitely, nothing there.
So I get my jammies on, and once more hear a faint and very quick rustle. Denial rushes into my brain. It competes with Intelligence, but I'm tired and it's been a long day, and Denial wins.
I sit down to eat a snack of cheese and crackers, and dangit--there's the rustle again. Only this time the damn thing has crawled out from behind the picture, and there, undeniably, plain as day, a freakin' bird. Intact, fine, healthy. IN MY BEDROOM. Dammit.
So if you know my history with wild animals in my house, and if you remember the terrifying babybunnytriedtokillme episode, then you know what I did next. I took my snack, my phone, my iPod, my book, my notebook, my pillow, my jammied self, and I went into Rudy's room and turned on the TV, shutting the bird in--and the animals out--of my room.
Time goes by, and I'm realizing I've GOT to do something about the bird or I'll never be able to sleep, so, being the badass-biker-chick-hangs-out-with-tigers sort of gal I am, I did the one thing I knew would solve it all.
I called Bill.
He, of course, was at dinner supporting a friend through a terrible tragedy, and I, of course, didn't want to interrupt that, so I simply asked him to call when he was done, and about an hour later he called to say he was on his way "to get rid of whatever it is you need taken out of the house." Ahhh, he knows me so well!!!
Shortly after, Bill arrived to save the day, Rudy got some lovin', Eddie got to play with his favorite play mate, and Tolliver's tail eventually returned to size. Although Rudy's since had the run of the house--he slinks under shelves and along walls--Tolliver appears to have forgotten he's here and hasn't sounded the intruder alert again.
I locked Rudy up while I was at work, and now that he's back out in the house again, Tolliver is asleep in the laundry basket. Clean clothes, of course.
Oh, and this evening I called my niece--the sculptor--and asked her to make me a big "6" for the house.
Life is good.