Flashes of Panic

With everyone else (it would appear) traveling this weekend, I am responsible for the entire furry circus.

It started Thursday taking A.’s place feeding a small colony of feral cats, improbably close to a local shopping center. We call them the invisible cats, because we’ve yet to see any of them. Still, every time I’m there, the dishes are empty, so something’s eating all the cat food we leave (which is quite a lot.) I’m told other feeders have seen the invisible cats, but I am not among the chosen. There are, apparently, fewer now than in the winter, because the woman who organizes the feeding is, gradually, trapping them and taking them to shelters. Apparently last time she got a raccoon, but as long as she says there are still some there, we keep feeding them.

Friday I relocated my base of operations to A.’s parents house. They take care of Iz while we’re traveling, so now I’m returning the favor. Their cat isn’t a challenge; like most cats, he just wants to be fed and left to his business, with perhaps a small ration of adulation. The dog, on the other hand…

The dog is a 175-pound Newfoundland. That’s the conservative weight estimate; he could be five or ten over that. In other words, he outweighs me by a not-insignificant amount. He looks like nothing so much as a small bear. Fortunately, that means that even with my lame paw, I’m significantly faster and more agile.

Now, imagine walking this dog. Imagine walking this dog through a playground. He makes a lot of friends, and several of them have met him before. I guess when you’re a big even by Newf standards, you’re memorable. I’m a popular guy for a few minutes, and everyone asks the same questions. Not that this is really anything new.