Ser­vant pays for fish­ing fever

Cats bustin’ outta here

Northwest Arkansas Democrat-Gazette - - NWA OUTDOORS - BOAT DOCK

When the grass starts green­ing and the daf­fodils pop­ping, it’s fish­ing time across the land.

That is, un­less your house is fall­ing down. Then it’s home im­prove­ment time, as it has been lately around the shack-ri-la.

Ev­ery project needs a su­per­vi­sor, some­one to crack the whip. That’s when I, Boat Dock, step in to be sure my cat but­ler doesn’t cut any cor­ners. He’s in fran­tic fix-up mode so he can get out af­ter those crap­pie.

You’ve sang the tune, “Fix­ing a hole where the rain gets in.” My manser­vant is fix­ing a hole where the cats get out. It’s his own fault, and here’s why.

The fur­less one takes off on one of his lit­tle jun­kets and leaves my sis­ter and me overnight with­out a fillin but­ler. He fig­ures we’ll be OK with the food dish over­flow­ing and a full wa­ter bowl. There’s a prob­lem. Who’s go­ing to let us in and out 50 times a day?

Two days of max­i­mum se­cu­rity, cooped up in­doors, is not ac­cept­able. My sis­ter, T.C., has a plan. She hops up on the kitchen win­dowsill where our miss­ing hu­man has left a win­dow open. My sis starts to work on a cor­ner of the screen with a sharp claw. We don’t need a hack­saw to break out of this jail.

In two min­utes she’s torn open a new cat door. We hop out of the hovel and into the yard. Ah, free at last.

When our but­ler re­turns, he sees the screen and throws one of his tantrums. “Boat Dock!”

It fig­ures. My sis­ter does the dirty work. I get the blame.

So on Satur­day, Mr. Thinks He’s Bob Vila comes home from the hard­ware store wav­ing a re­ceipt in my face for the stuff to fix the screen. Right. Like there’s a pocket in this fur where I carry my bill­fold. Ac­tu­ally, I bank on­line.

The re­pair takes a pre­cious 30 min­utes of his fish­ing time. Whoop-de-doo. There’s one more chore to do be­fore he can go chase those crap­pie.

Now we’re out­side where I su­per­vise the cat but­ler as he paints some wood sid­ing on the shack-ri-la. He dips a brush into red paint and starts to work. I move in for an up-close in­spec­tion. He’s missed a spot.

As I point this out, my fine or­ange fur rubs against the wet paint. Great. Just great. Now there’s a big red stripe down my left side like I’m a work of tom cat art. Just put me in a frame and haul me over to Crys­tal Bridges.

It gets worse. The CB comes af­ter me with a bucket and a sponge. Wa­ter sloshes over the rim as he lunges and grabs the base of my tail. There’s no es­cape, and I get

Ev­ery project needs a su­per­vi­sor, some­one to crack the whip.

half a bath.

I’m soaked to the skin, and he gets busy scrub­bing me with the rough side of the sponge. It’s like sand­pa­per and I’m a 2-by-4. Does he bring a towel? Ne­ga­tory. I run un­der the porch to hide my wet, mat­ted fur.

This is the thanks I get for qual­ity con­trol. I’m pack­ing my hard hat and go­ing where my su­per­vi­sion is ap­pre­ci­ated, out at the big high­way widen­ing project on I-49.

Boat Dock is fe­line out­doors colum­nist for the North­west Arkansas Demo­crat-Gazette. His col­umn ap­pears when he feels like writ­ing one. Write to Boat Dock on his Face­book page.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from USA

© PressReader. All rights reserved.