Don't you just hate it how sarcasm is completely wasted on a cat?

I was down on all fours yesterday afternoon weeding one of my perennial flower beds. I actually kind of enjoy spring weeding because it's a taking stock time for me--as I pitch out the intruders I also take note of what made it through the winter, what needs dividing, what could be moved, and gaps where winter's victims need replacing.

Yep, so there I was just enjoying the tranquility of a wonderful spring day, the sun warming my back, the smell of fresh earth, methodically working my way down the flower bed. Along strolled my cat Zubby.

Zub is a fairly big, very long-haired cat and now that spring is coming he's started to shed his extremely lush winter coat. He gets brushed every night by the spousal unit when they watch the tee vee together, but this time of year Zub is a shedding machine. You could clothe a small village with the fur this cat leaves in its wake.

As an extra, added bonus Zub has a bottlebrush tail which picks up whole wheelbarrow's worth of organic matter as he roams our yard, stuff such as bits of leaves, dust, burrs and tiny twigs. We won't even contemplate what sorts of hideously unspeakable germs might be incorporated in The Bushy Tail of Bacterial Pestilence and Disease.

I was paused, staring down intently at some seedlings, trying to puzzle out if I was looking at weeds or valuable baby globe thistles. Zubby decided to check out what I was looking at and ran directly under my face, his bottle brush tail high in the air with the joy of spring.

As he paused directly above the mystery seedlings, I got a face full of cat fur. Thanks to The Bushy Tail of Bacterial Disease And Pestilence, I was hit with an extra added bonus of various bits of leaf debris, teensy twigs and what was probably a massive dose of hideously unspeakable germs.

Oh happy day.

"Thanks so very, very much, Zub," I sputtered at the cat, pushing him away, dragging the back of my muddy hand across my face to try to swipe off the small cloud of fur he'd left there. In my hair was a few bits of leaf debris and teensy twigs which he had transferred there from his tail. I will not speak of the germs on the theory that if I ignore them, they will just go away.

The cat parked a short distance down the flower bed with his back to me, pretending that he had not been rudely shoved away. Lah lah lah lah lah. I gave him the evil eye. I turned back to my work. I decided to leave the mystery seedlings for a week, see how their next set of leaves develop. If they're not globe thistle, I can always pull them out then.

I moved down the bed a bit. I admired what the old timers around here call His and Her Plant, so named because it bears both pink and blue flowers. Borage is a very early spring bloomer, a lovely companion to spring bulbs. I leaned forward to smell the daffodils by it and out of nowhere the friggin' cat rocketed through right under my face.

Again.

Face full of fur. Again. New, improved bits of leaves and plant debris, stuff he'd picked up when he'd parked his butt in my flower bed. A second pass from The Tail Of Bacterial Pestilence And Disease, this time right across my mouth in case, you know, he hadn't infected me with the bubonic plague yet.

Harsh, sarcastic words were again uttered in the general direction of the cat, who blithely ignored me and wandered off. His body language clearly indicated that his job was now done and I was much, much too boring to be of further interest.

Fine.

Want to know the worst part?

A few hours later I was sitting on the porch, a very smug cat purring madly as he stretched out on my lap. Oh yeah, I showed Zubby the consequences of his actions. Even sadder, I actually hesitated to get up and start supper because the cat was so happy.

Hello, my name is Marn and I am completely and utterly pussywhipped by a twelve pound cat. Somebody. Please. Help me.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 236.98 miles (381.3 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers