"I Think Your Cat is Going Loco, Hon"

“Hey, Boxer!” JoAnna called out in a sing-song voice when we returned home from our walk this morning.

I hadn’t seen her let the cat out of the house.

Boxer seemed very agitated, repeatedly meowing, which she rarely does, and practically pacing back-and-forth as we approached the side door. Usually she runs away whenever I get within a few feet of her. Not today. She held her ground and dashed inside as soon as I opened it.

The meowing and strange behavior continued once we were inside.

“I think your cat is going loco,” I said. “I can’t remember when I’ve seen her so worked up. She must have seen something while we were gone that freaked her out.”

Probably a good guess. JoAnna found Boxer on the futon, looking out one of the bedroom windows into the back yard. Then, her feet moving at fast-forward speed, she padded her way to the family room. Eventually she settled down and went to one of her resting places.

After I returned home from my class, Boxer started to meow as soon as I pulled back the curtain of the closet in Eddie’s old bedroom – the one he used before Andy went to school in Milwaukee. It’s not unusual to find her holed up there. She goes in cycles as to where she likes to take a nap: on the futon, at the foot of the bed in Andy’s old room, under our bed, under the dining table. Now, apparently, it’s back to the closet.

She mowed repeatedly, as if to say, “You’re letting in too much light!”

“Where are you, Trina?” (That’s my nickname for her.)

She wasn’t in her usual far corner.

All of a sudden she jumped out of the closet, giving me a slight start, and made a dash for the living room.

“Crazy cat!” I muttered.

After changing my clothes, I found her eyeing the front door.

“Do you want go to outside?” I asked.

She meowed in reply. Just once, as is her usual habit.

When I opened the inside door, she approach the entryway cautiously, her head slightly lowered. I then opened storm door and offered her some encouragement.

“It’s a nice day out there, Trina. A little wet with the melting snow, but the temperature’s almost 40˚.

As if sensing danger, she froze once she was four feet from the opening.

“I’m not going to stand here all day, Trina,” I warned, and then promptly let the door slam shut.
I left the inside door open.

While microwaving some leftover spinach and pepper rigatoni – the recipe is found on the back of a box of Morton’s Coarse Kosher Salt – I watched as Boxer padded her way to the front door, this time parking herself at the threshold. She was still there ten minutes later. I offered to let her go outside, but once again she refused. This time, though, she made a half-hearted swiping motion with her right paw.

“You trying to tell me something, Trina?”

While I was in the family room to retrieve my computer lap pad, I noticed that the shade of the large table lamp was askew. And the lamp is placed in front of one of the windows that face west – the same direction as the windows where the futon is positioned.

My guess is that Boxer had a close encounter with a mother raccoon. For the past two years, a raccoon – the same one? – has given birth to kits in a cavity, about 15 feet off the ground, of the silver maple in the middle of our back yard. She has probably returned to claim her private maternity room. I knew I should have done something last fall to make it uninhabitable. Right now, though, I’m not in the mood to see if the space is again occupied.