Hello, Gentle Reader –
I’m writing you today to tell you the story of Gus.
This is Gus.
This 4 month old furball, I’m coming to realize, is one profoundly stupid cat.
In our backyard we have a Jacaranda tree. Gus, it appears, likes our Jacaranda tree.
Day 1: We find Gus sitting in the V in the tree, mewing for help. About 5 feet up. Reach out and grab Gus, tell him not to climb the tree, put him down. Away he goes.
Day 2: Gus climbs waaaaaay up into the tree, probably 15 feet. Unreachable by any ladders in our possession. Fortunately, the landscaping guy is around, and Mrs. Gattigap asks for the guy’s help. Guy puts on the tree-climbing gear, hops up the tree, gets Gus, drops him onto blanket that Mrs. G and MIL are holding aloft. Gus darts for the house.
Day 3: Mrs. G out for the day, me and FIL at home. Early afternoon. Hear mewing outside. Curse. Look up, Gus is in the same precise spot. Call Mrs. G. Come to consensus that the answer is not to employ fire dept. at cost of (reportedly) hundreds of dollars for a 1-minute kitten rescue. Answer, instead, is to let the cat figure out how to get down, because otherwise this little endeavor is headed for painful, utter failure.
Several hours later, Gus is still there. FIL and I step outside to assess the situation. FIL says, you know, when I was a kid, we’d get cats out of trees by tossing rocks at it.
I arch eyebrows, look over at FIL. FIL turns palms up, adopts “I’m just sayin’” expression.
We assemble various wiffle balls, soft mini-basketballs, etc. Toss each up to Gus such that the top of the arc comes close to him. Gus is unmoved, though he finds this exercise interesting. 15 minutes later, a mini-basketball occupies Gus’ exact spot on the branch. Gus tumbles, falls to the deck below. Lands upright -- though, admittedly, dispassionate observers wouldn’t call this a perfect 4-point landing. Gus darts into house (and is unharmed from the experience). FIL and I decide to say that we saw Gus fall, though not necessarily volunteer that we knocked him out of the tree.
Day 4: Gus back in tree, in same freakin’ spot. I have to leave for a dinner, plan is for others to let Gus figure out the mechanics of tree descent on his own.
I return after event. Everyone in house is asleep, except Gus, who’s still in the tree, mewing. I softly call up to Gus. Explain, cajole, plead, curse. Gus is unmoved. I contemplate what to do, and while engaged in Deep Thought on the topic, fall asleep on couch.
Awake at about 1am. Mrs. G is there, worrying about Gus. We go outside to assess our options. Gus still there, still mewing. We’re both exhausted. Mrs. G worries about Gus falling asleep and then, well, falling. At this point, I don’t see this as a uniformly bad outcome. Mrs. G disagrees. We need Options.
Well, says I, we could toss balls up in his direction, see if it'll make him come down. No, says she, that sounds a bit cruel.
Pause.
Maybe, says she, you could get out the hose and spray water near him. You know, just to encourage him to come down.
I arch eyebrows, look over at Mrs. G. She turns palms up, adopts “I’m just sayin’” expression.
So, at 1am, I get out the Domestic Water Cannon. Spray hose in Gus’ general direction. Gus is unmoved.
It’s at this point, Gentle Reader, that your author lost patience with this overall exercise. I adjusted the arc of the water slightly, and what was a Warning Shot Across The Bow became more of a Direct Water Assault.
Gus tumbles, falls, lands upright. Though, admittedly, most dispassionate observers wouldn’t call it a perfect 4-point landing. Wet, bedraggled Gus darts into house to gorge on food and receive pampering from Mrs. G while I turn off the Water Cannon.
Friday morning, I get a call. Gus was back in a tree.
Stay tuned, Gentle Reader, for Part II: The Vigil.*
Very truly yours,
I remain
Gattigap
* Assuming positive or at least noncommittal audience response.
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