A Curse On Your Ark, Noah

Too many animals.

The girl decided that our ancient sloth "Snapdog", who wears an orange cat's skin, "needs company" since we're away so much. And in the girl's book, two of anything is way better than one, and since we always see things the same way (it's just that most of the time she sees them first) we relieved the pound of of a pair of testicle pummeling (see previous post) pussy cats. And boy howdy, does he have company.

Not a formula for a good night's sleep, what with said sloth pretty certain he has dibs on our bed and his vituperous assertions that those dibs are exclusive.

Then about 3:30 this morning the javelinas return in hopes of another feast of flowers and herbs that the girl insists on laying out for them. Some times they just tear everything out of the pots and strew dirt around the patio, but this morning they were squeezing in between the trellises and the house and banging and rooting and snorting and about 4 I finally went out in sandals and shorts and hissed at them and clapped my hands and 12 to 15 of them scurried off to the south, more afraid of the apparition than the sounds it made, I'm sure.

Back to bed, shovel the kittens out of the way. They take that as an invitation to play scratch and tickle. I just want some sleep, dammit.

Now come the coyotes, in full throat. Might as well be right in the bedroom, singing into both sets of windows. They sound kind of neat when they're off up the mountain, but when they're close and I'm trying to get back to sleep, it ain't neat. And now I read that some young woman in Canada was killed by coyotes?

This morning I ask, "Weren't those damned pigs and coyotes something?!"

"You know, I thought I heard something."

The girl is going to have to start helping out with this wildlife circus act at night. She's all done with the laundry and cooking and filing and so on by the time she joins me in bed. Why should it fall solely onto me?