Overnight Explorer

Blogger’s Note: I wrote this post last week, then managed to close the program without saving the work. It was of course, some of my best work 😊 and though I spent the weekend trying to recapture the brilliance of my words, my success was limited. I humbly present Take 2.

Fennel has taken to greeting me on the barn porch in the morning. The sun remains unrisen at that hour, and though this is a daily occurrence, his stealthy block of blackness slinking toward me from under the rocking chair or on top of the hitching post continues to jump start my system with a jolt that my first cup of Laughing Man dark roast will never duplicate.

It must be part of The Barn Cat Code to remain silent until a familiar voice is heard, because neither he nor Mace ever make a meow until I speak to them. Perhaps I’ll introduce an “Announce Your Presence” amendment at the next meeting.

Because he’s lurking outside in the early a.m. on such a consistent basis, I suspect Fennel must be sticking close to home while giving in to the nocturnal wanderlust his DNA demands. Or maybe Mace assigned the rookie to the graveyard shift, in accordance with the by-laws established by the loosely organized Felines Around Barns Catching Adversarial Trespassers (FABCATs).

In any case, the tabby tyro spends his overnight hours exploring the flora and fauna of greater Four Sticks Farm. He’s cultivating his kitten brain, becoming a solid-citizen cat as he experiences the ways of the world beyond the boundaries of the barn, and learns a little about how the other halves live.

There’s a big wide world of wonder out there, much to be marveled at by a freshman mouser. It’s good for a guy to figure out who’s friend, who’s foe; what’s worth a fight, what’s not; where to hunt, where to play, where to rest, where to steer clear; when to stand still, and when to beat feet.

I suspect he roams through the reed grass, finds frogs in the marsh and mice in the field, climbs trees, runs fence lines, spooks at shadows, feigns ferocity and burrows in the bushes.

The slow return of hair on the slow healing gash on the tip of his tail bears witness to his first successful lesson in wilderness survival, though the cause of the cut shall forever remain a mystery. The little ginger cat is becoming wise to the ways of the woods and the swamp, discovering which are the trails less traveled, which are the most rapid routes home. It’s fun to be Fennel.

So venture out Fennelton, enjoy your overnight explorations, but be home for breakfast.

And please meow a morning welcome upon approach.