Mosquitoes have been up. Increasing.
I’ve been getting bitten during the day lately. I hate it. Mossies have always loved me more than everybody else. If I was in a crowd of a hundred people and there were five mossies, I’d get bitten like twenty or thirty times, and no one else would. Fahim thinks that mossies love him. And maybe, compared to most other people here in Sri Lanka, they do love him.But with me around, he gets a serious break, cuz even as much as he says they love him, they still bite me first.
But that’s not the only reason monsoon season can be bad. I’m thinking in terms of the fuzzie friends who own me. Specifically, I’m pondering about Tellulah, the wussy princess feline.
Tellulah is scared of water. Most cats are. Or at least most cats hate water. Tellulah, I suspect, takes it a step further. She lives in fear of water.
During the day, our balcony doors are open and the cats are free to come and go as they please. They enjoy going over the railing onto the roof of the carport (downstairs neighbors), walking down to the fence surrounding the house, and occasionally getting into our neighbor’s garden. This, if you’ve read my blog, you know.
During today’s rainstorm, Oberon was smart enough to come home – home as in inside, with a roof over his head so he doesn’t get wet.
Tellulah. Tellulah. She can be a bit of a trouble maker, can’t she?
Or perhaps a little daft at times.
She got caught out in the rain.
See, I can stretch myself around the wall and look out at the carport. When it started raining, I took a look and called out to the cats – you know, make sure they know I’m home and they can come in and be dry. Well, honestly, it’s because I called out that Oberon came running. Tellulah – not a peep.
I went about, doing whatever, and came back a few minutes to call Tellulah again, see if she wants to come home. Nothing.
A few minutes after that, I check again, and this time, well, while she made it partway, she got herself stuck, but only in her own mind, on one stretch where she was getting wet, but only a little bit, and mostly she was protected from the rain. But whoa, the angle changes – and that’s it, she’s soaked. It didn’t happen, don’t get me wrong, but it could have.
Anyway, she parks herself there on that one tiny part of the carport and she waits. And she waits.
She could make a run for it – only, what, five more feet? And be totally dry. I call her name again and again. Finally, she gets up the courage, makes a run for it, and jumps for home.
Dry again. Almost. After she licks off all the rainwater on her fur.