Oops.....

The cats are going to kill me. One of these days, my husband will find me out in the back courtyard after tripping over Gatsby, or falling down the stairs as I rush up to the second floor to rescue Sweet Pea from one of the upper balconies, or I will be flat out on the path under the rose arbor after tripping over a plant root trying to get Mickey Kitty into the house before it gets dark.

That last one..... about Mickey Kitty.... that was this evening's adventure. And I'm lucky I didn't break one or both wrists, or break my left knee, or smash my chin onto the concrete path. Or all of the above.

I don't usually let Mickey and Sweet Pea outside after they have their dinner. Their bellies are full then and they tend to find a spot to take a nap at that time. However.... they were in the house all the while we were in Flatonia today, as my husband tasted BBQ-ed meats and I nibbled my way through half of a Fabulous Funnel Cake. The cats wanted to go out in the yard...... to run after crickets and chase a chicken or two. So out they went.... what was I thinking?!

Now that we're getting close to the day when the time gets changed back an hour, it's getting dark here before 7:30 in the evening. I like to have the cats inside the house before the sun goes down and before the hens make their way back to the coop-- simply because Mickey likes to chase the hens when they're in the back courtyard on their way towards the coop. He doesn't understand that the hens need to be inside the coop before dark so they're safe from coyotes and bobcats and raccoons.

Speaking of the local wildlife-- just this morning, one of the neighbors told my husband that the coyote population has increased so rapidly this season that the local county wildlife officers are telling property owners to shoot coyotes on sight, no matter how young or old they are. Ditto for bobcats, which one of the nearby neighbors have recently seen on their property. When my husband told me that this morning, I said that I wouldn't leave Gatsby out at night anymore... that he could come into the house with Sweet Pea and Mickey. (The raccoons, bobcats and coyotes are night-hunters.)

So there I was earlier this evening...... calling Sweet Pea..... who came walking from the front yard by the barn. Across the driveway he came, walked right up to me, and followed me into the house. One down. Gatsby was sleeping on the porch. He was fine right where he was for the moment. Two down. Last one... Mickey Kitty. I started to call him. Not a sign of that little black cat. Usually, he comes up on the porch when I call him, or he'll sit on the back porch steps and wait for me to walk over to him and pick him up so he can be carried into the house like the Little Prince that he is.

Tonight, however... not a sign of him. I looked in all of his favorite napping places. Nothing. I walked to the barn and looked inside-- no Mickey. Well, I was tired of having so much fun all by myself... I went into the house and asked my husband to please come outside and help me find "his cat." Mickey is always his cat when I can't find him. So there we both were, calling Mickey and not finding him.

My husband went to look in the barn. I started looking in his favorite sleeping spots again. And there he was..... underneath the little palm tree in the flowerbed in front of the garage. Just curled up there as comfy as could be, staring out at me with big wide eyes. I called my husband over from the barn...... he called Mickey to come out from under the palm (this particular palm is short and squat, with needle-sharp pointed leaves that fan out close to the ground). Mickey just sat there looking at us. My husband told me to just leave him where he was and he'd come in when he was hungry. I reminded him that it would be dark in half an hour, and then I reminded him what the neighbor said about the plethora of coyotes in the hills.

So we tried to get Mickey out from under the palm..... me going into one side of the flowerbed, my husband going into the other..... and that little black cat ran out the back, right through the picket fence by the rose arbor, and ran underneath the cottage. My husband and I came into the house. We both knew that neither one of us could get him out from under the cottage.

My husband went back to his work. I put dinner in the oven which I'd prepared yesterday (thank goodness, because I wasn't in the mood for cooking at that particular moment). Then I put my red walking-around-the-property boots on and went back outside. And there was Mickey, back underneath the palm in the flowerbed. And there went I.... with my boots on to protect me from spiders, scorpions, snakes and heaven only knows what else.... into the flowerbed I went to get Mickey once and for all out from under that blessed palm.

My right hand was three inches away from Mickey and then he darted out towards the rose arbor..... and there I was, right behind him...... except one of my boots got caught in a root or something and down I went....... so quickly that I screamed (but of course there was no one out there to hear me).

In the space of two seconds, my left knee smashed down into the flowerbed, both of my wrists smashed down onto the path under the rose arbor, and there I was, with my chin about three inches from the birdseed-speckled path. Just three more inches and my chin would have been split open and sprinkled with the birdseed.

I was so stunned that the breath was knocked out of me. My legs were in the flowerbed, and the top half of me was sprawled under the rose arbor. I couldn't get up because my wrists were hurting, so I crawled out like a silly frog and then sat down under the arbor. I looked at the left knee of the capris I was wearing-- a big green grass stain was all across the knee...... underneath the fabric, my knee was all red but not bleeding. Then I looked at my wrists....... I could move them, turn them, so nothing was broken, but the palms of my hands were hurting, and my right arm was hurting right up to the shoulder.

I sat down under the arbor, with my head on my knees, just trying to catch my breath and thanking my lucky stars that I didn't break anything. And as I was sitting there, out came Mickey from the yard by the chicken coop.... walking slowly towards me, and he walked right underneath my raised-up knees and sat down just as nice as you please and he just looked at me.

I didn't say a word. Not a whisper. He looked at me, I looked at him. The only thought in my mind: You are my cat. You are coming in the house with me. I will not leave you out here in the blessed dark. I got to my feet, Mickey watching my every move, then I scooped Mickey up into my arms and he buried his head near my left elbow. I limped across the driveway, down the stone path, up the porch steps and put Mickey into the house. Then I sat on the chair near the back door and took off the red boots. I looked at my left knee again... still hurting but not bleeding. The knee was about as red as my boots, though.

I came into the kitchen and there was Mickey, just sitting on the floor in the kitchen and looking up at me. I looked back and didn't say a word. I went upstairs and told my husband everything he missed. "You always miss all the fun," I said.

It has been five hours since that little episode. I sat in the TV room for a while after dinner and kept a bag of ice on my left knee. It seems to have helped some. The knee is still red but the throbbing is gone. While I was picking at my dinner, Mickey came over to me and put his two front paws up on my leg and gave me his best poor-lost-little-kitten look. We had Greek spinach pie for dinner, which Mickey doesn't like, so I didn't give him a taste. I did, however, stare back at him with my best I-could-have-broken-a-leg look.