Midafternoon, I heard a bit of a kitty kommotion from the general direction of the guest bedroom which has been pressed into double duty as an afternoon sunroom. Stood up from my desk and came around, across the hall and toward the noise. There stood Chatterbox, backing away from the windowsill as best she could while balancing on a side chair.
One of the three garlic seedlings lay on the ground beneath the windowsill, gasping for breath, trapped beneath an avalanche of Miracle Gro potting soil, and – sadly – the pot itself. I sensed very little signs of life.
“So – what happened..?” me.
Silence from both Chatterbox and the garlic seedling. Chatterbox was choked by guilt, and the garlic was too wounded to respond.
I picked up the vict- er.. plant, and gently pushed it back into position in the potting soil gathered from the (of course it’s pale beige…) carpet. A bit of liquid, a careful trimming of nigh-severed limbs, and this brave soldier, martyr to the cause, returned to its previous post. I moved the chair away from the temptation of the windowsill, retrieved the big ugly loud vacuum monster (Chatterbox’s words, not mine) from its closet, and cleaned up the potting soil mess.
A few minutes later, I peeked around the corner, just to see if the garlic was showing any signs of life. No change, but Chatterbox had taken up vigil on the guest bed, glaring balefully in the direction of the
snitch– er.. garlic.
I picked up the severed garlic stem and held it beneath her nose. She sniffed, perked up, and bit into it with vigor. Then just as vigorously, she stopped biting at it and wrinkled her nose in disgust.
Sometimes a cat’s gotta do what a cat’s gotta do. But somehow I think that’s the last time she’s gotta do garlic.