NEXT

                                      
                                 Robert Louis Stevenson
                                    (A.K.A.   BOB?)


I have given up on outdoor activities for the day.   On the first attempt, I headed for the pond to try to get a pic of the enormous bullfrog that lives there. The minute I was halfway through the yard I was nearly engulfed in black flies, by the time I got back to the house I could feel them having breakfast at my expense.   After two more failed attempts I have given up.  My only hope is that the bullfrog (we have named 'Fred') is out there eating like a Rolaid (100 times his weight in insects).

So onward with the rescues.

It was a dark and stormy night...   More precisely, it was the middle of winter, a coastal storm was pushing the wind chill down to -20 while snow blew sideways, and the library at Connecticut College had been empty nearly all evening.   When the librarian decided to close, she bundled up and headed out. What blocked her path when she first attempted to open the exterior front door was not drifting snow, but a cardboard box, with a mother cat and four kittens packed in an old sweatshirt, inside the box. 

"I promise, I won't ask you again," pleaded the dog warden, "besides, you don't have a tiger."     

I need to take one of those courses on asserting oneself,  but no, I wouldn't be who I am if I could look the other way.

Enter BOB?  And yes, its always a question, he has a lot to say;  first.   As a result I am always asking what he wants.  BOB? is left handed pawed.  I know this because he is constantly tapping me to get my attention. Its a very deliberate tap-tap-tap-tap until he has my undivided attention.  He is also a neat freak.  He'll pick up anything that had been dropped, Q-Tips, pieces of paper etc. and leave the stuff right beside the wastebasket.

   One of my cats (I won't mention any names but it starts with Elliot) is extremely gassey.  BOB? can smell a cloud of gas four rooms away.  He'll race through the house to find the origin, then do that paw the earth style move thinking if it smells that bad, he should be able to cover it up.    Poor He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has had it with BOB? following him around and trying to bury him.  

BOB? is also too smart for his own good.  He is not only able to locate the little bags of cat treats, he opens cabinet doors to get them.  The amazing thing is that before he takes them off the counter, he checks to make sure the others have heard. Then he hops down with the treats. He shares.  He has been caught pushing things off the counter while a herd awaits below.

He does not, however, share baked potatoes,  french fries, Lays Potato Chips (his favorites), or pork chops (don't ask).   When he is fortunate enough to latch on to a delicacy he hides it in the furthest corner of - get ready - the shower; for later.  

He is, simply put, a joy to have around.