of Weather or War

Phoebe’s Log – September 8, 2013

At the top of the threshold between the open basement door and the kitchen, he sprawls. His lanky and long self divides of the upper and the underworld. He purrs so slightly, closes his eyes, looks away to the basement and then eyes her ever so carefully…watching her every move. She is washing the dishes.

He waits – a hunter stalking his prey. Neither one willing to make eye contact yet slyly steal glances at the corner of their eyes. I watch and listen to Al’s music in the background. It’s the romantic album – la la la la. I purr along watching the tension between Crosby and the Big Cat grow progressively heightened. She doesn’t like leaving the basement door open, yet knows it’s futile to keep the door closed. He doesn’t really want to go down to the basement, he wants treats (and for that matter, so do I). He is patient, waiting for the moment when he feels like making a move. After all, it is good to keep the Big Cat on her toes.

Suddenly there is a creak from the basement below as a disembodied voice shouts out from the basement, “How’s it going Crosby?”
“All’s well sir, All is well,” Crosby responds, “Just waiting for treats.”
“You need me to come up and knock a door or something?”
“Na, just feel like doing a little stalking for now.”

The conversation goes on for a bit between Crosby and the centuries old spirit living in the basement. I’m not particularly fond of engaging the spirit while Crosby, on the other hand, enjoys it…and by all accounts, the spirit is harmless. Just an old soul periodically checking in on his favorite haunt. He and Crosby talk now and again. Mostly weather, which Crosby knows something about by looking out the window & politics – which Crosby knows little about except for the rants by the neighbor next door regarding the Mass Ave Corridor project. Somehow, something is lost in translation when a cat tries to explain a bicycle, a bike lane and rush hour traffic to an 18th century ghost.

Suddenly, there is a knock on the back door. The romantic music hits a high point. Crosby thumps his tail disgusted at the disturbance. It’s the neighbor.

“War! To War” The ghost cries out and retreats to another dimension to prepare for the bicycle invasion and unavoidable metallic carnage on the streets of Arlington.

The Big Cat exchanges a few pleasantries with the neighbor and is given what appears to be a declaration of War OR perhaps it was a piece of mis-delivered mail (one can’t be too sure).

Crosby makes eye contact with the neighbor and strolls over in the middle of the exchange. The neighbor giggles at the sight of him. Sigh. Yes, what now, turn the romantic music up? Finally, the back door shuts. Without skipping a beat, Crosby turns his attention to the Big Cat. “Jealous, are we?” Eyes locked in a showdown Crosby mumbles in a low sweet tone hypnotizing the Big Cat. Without breaking stride, Crosby moves across the kitchen and leaps on the counter, eyes the treat cabinet and commands…“Hurry woman,” he says, “Toss the treats, toss the treats and then we can talk about the weather…or war”

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