Animal Farm

I was in the middle of a Teams meeting yesterday when I heard a thump at the front door and saw it open a few inches. My Taller Half was asleep in the bedroom. Maybe a delivery person left a package? I stared at the door, then realized if I didn’t get up and shut it, our cats would go exploring. I ran to the door, opened it a few more inches, and in strode Linus. No human was in sight. I returned to my meeting.

Linus is a long, handsome black cat. He moves like a panther, his regal bearing spoiled only by two top teeth that occasionally catch on his lip, changing the panther into a goofy vampire. He moves with confidence when he’s comfortable, but he’s skittish in certain areas of the house. Then, he moves slowly, tentatively, swinging his head back and forth to look for sudden movement. MTH thinks he sees spirits, perhaps of pets long gone. I told him that the only spirit in our house is the Holy One, and I doubt Linus is seeing Him.

To explain the door, I have to go back before I met MTH, about seven years ago when Minnie, a 60-pound Lab mix, found her forever home. Minnie had been in three rescues and one animal control facility across two states before she came to us. It was love at first sight. My youngest son and daughter took turns trying to burn the energy out of her. She was a big pup in a small apartment, so we had to work to keep her busy. My daughter decided to teach her to do tricks, and she was a good trainer. The most impressive trick was teaching Minnie how to open doors. We had lever handles in the apartment, and once she learned to swat at the handles with her paw, her weight would do the rest and open the door. We were amused … until we had to start locking our bedroom doors to keep her out.

One day, my son and I were watching a movie, and Minnie was being a pest, so we shut her in his bedroom. Those doors swung inward, so her pushes couldn’t work … which is why we were surprised a few minutes later when she came trotting out to pester us.

“You must not have closed the door well,” I told my son.

He took her back to the room, closed the door, and we both sat, listening, waiting. Sure enough, within a minute, we heard the door and out trotted Minnie. We eventually witnessed her technique. She stands on her hind legs, the door handle between her front paws. She then moves the handle down and starts backing up. We were amazed, amused, and disturbed. Minnie now had the run of the house.

When I bought the house in Pixley, the doors were flimsy, so I replaced the three exterior doors, adding new deadbolts and handles. I might be living in Pixley, but I was leaving a big city, and I was going to live alone for the first time in my life. I preferred the look of the lever handles, and Minnie wasn’t strong enough to open a heavy exterior door, so I wasn’t concerned about Minnie becoming an escape artist. Besides, I always use the deadbolt.

A few months after I moved to Pixley, I had to drive across the state for a doctor’s appointment. It was a three-hour drive and a time change, and I was nervous about arriving on time, so I left myself plenty of time. About half an hour after I left, my neighbor called me.

Did you leave Minnie outside?


No, of course not!

Well, she’s outside now.

I couldn’t leave Minnie outside, so I turned the car around and arrived home 30 minutes later to find Minnie sitting in the driveway, waiting for me. The front door was locked, but I walked around to the back and found the door open. I must not have turned the deadbolt all the way.

After locking Minnie safely inside and checking all the doors, I headed back down the highway and made it to my appointment with seconds to spare.

Fast forward through a hurricane, a wedding, and a bunch of cats, and MTH and I were in front of our house enjoying the afternoon. Minnie was with us, as was Linus, one of the two cats that insist on spending some time outdoors. Most of our cats were ferals who were adopted by MTH. He is a cat whisperer. It’s who he is, what he did before he and I married. Most of the cats are content to stay indoors, but Linus likes to stretch out on the walkway, soaking up the sun. Minnie decided that she wanted to go inside, probably to find some unattended cat food to eat, so she batted at the handle and pushed. Linus watched her, fascinated.

Later, we laughed when we saw Linus batting at the lever of the front door when he wanted to go outside. He could never pull the door open, but it was a handy signal. Sometimes, he’d hop on a chair near the door, trying to figure out how to open the handle himself, but he just couldn’t pull the door open. He then started swatting the handle when he wanted to come in. It scared me the first time, hearing someone trying the handle of the door, but then it became amusing.

Life in Pixley has made me less cautious. I still deadbolt the door when we’re home … most of the time. But sometimes, I forget. One time, I heard the handle move and saw the door open, and I gasped. But when I rounded the couch to approach the front door, in strutted Linus. I must not have closed it well. It must have been partly open. Yesterday, I learned better. The door was shut, but he managed to slap the lever down while throwing his considerable weight at the door. Thud!

I imagine he will teach our other cats and a couple of neighborhood cats who like to hang out here to open doors. We have the cool kids’ house when it comes to animals because of MTH, the big, scary man with the big, soft heart. He will leave a bit of food out for a feral cat and make a warm box for strays to sleep in when the temps drop below freezing. We’ve already spied a possum at the door, helping himself to the cat food. Eventually, it might be a coyote or a bobcat, I warn him. Then where will we be?

As I was finishing writing the last sentence, I heard the lever handle move. I locked the deadbolt this time, so I went to open the door. In trotted Linus followed by a local feral cat with a huge appetite and a bad attitude. We call him Sam. He will come in the house a few feet just to see what inside is like, but he heads back out as soon as we bring the food. Sam likes to hiss and swat at me and Minnie, especially if we’re not quick enough with the vittles. Great. Now he has learned from Linus the magical secret of the door. It will be just like Animal Farm soon, with the animals running the show. As I watch my beloved get breakfast for all the assorted creatures before we enjoyed our own, I realize that perhaps they already are.

Linus, Biggie Spike, and Midge

Three Turtles

The long drive back from our church isn’t quite as scenic as most of the drives to our north. There are a few vistas that are very pretty, but mostly, the scenery is made of small businesses, small farms, rural homes and mobile homes. We pass at least five Dollar Generals and a prison. There’s a high school right next to a water treatment plant, and sometimes we contemplate how awful it must be for those practicing sports in the hotter months of the year. There are no sweeping emerald fields or hills full of cattle and the occasional horse or donkey. The piney woods along the route were devastated by the Very Big Storm, and though the wooded areas still stand, many are being cleared in the name of “progress.”

We pass a few small homesteads with a scattering of cows or goats … and the occasional errant pig. Not far past Stinky High School, there is a small stretch of wetlands, and on one particular branch sticking up from the water … a victim of the Very Big Storm, I suspect … sit three turtles. We pass them so quickly, I can’t identify the type — possibly sliders or red-belly turtles. There are always three. They are not very large, though two of them are larger, one is smaller. Since we first noticed them, we check every time we pass, and every time we pass, they are there in that exact spot, sunning themselves.

Their position seems so permanent, it is as if they had been glued there. My Taller Half suggested they might be animatronic turtles, something snatched or escaped from the House of Mouse. We enjoy concocting fanciful explanations for ordinary things. We will probably name them one day.

With the subdivisions planned all along the highway to the beach, we fear one day the small farms, homesteads, and wetlands will be gone. Some of the areas fall within protected lands, so not all of it will disappear, but we mourn the loss of the farms, wetlands, and forests that come with the inevitable encroachment of humans.

One of the things that drew MTH and me together was the shared memory of driving for miles and miles with the heady perfume of orange blossoms in the air. We remember our beloved state before strip malls and McMansions and planned communities. We cherish those memories and planted satsumas, Meyer lemons, and ruby red grapefruit on our property so that maybe we’ll have a reminder of those days every spring. We’ll continue to appreciate the three turtles and be grateful they are there.

Collards and Cornbread

For three months now, I’ve been babying my fall garden, including two collard green plants that survived my initial incompetence. Can you believe that while My Taller Half and I were out shopping, my neighbor harvested my greens and cooked them?

Of course, this was an act of kindness, not thievery. MTH loves collard greens. I’m a decent cook, but I didn’t even know how they should taste. How would I know if I was making them right or tell a good recipe from a bad one? Our next-door neighbor, a lifelong resident of this part of the country, said that’s one thing she knows how to make. In truth, this fine lady can cook and makes many good things.

While we were out, I called to ask if I needed to bring home anything to make the collards. She told me they were already done. She said to be sure to get the fixin’s for cornbread.

When we arrived home, she brought us a big pot.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep some? It looks like there’s plenty.” She said no, but her grandson came in, smelled them, and had a big spoonful before she could tell him those weren’t for them. She promised to make him another pot later.

The greens smelled heavenly. I started to put them in containers in the refrigerator so that I could wash and return her pot. MTH said he couldn’t wait for cornbread and ate a little bowlful, confirming that the collards were excellent. He texted her the same, and she replied, “I know that’s right!”

Next fall, I need to plant a lot more collards and maybe some mustard greens, too. We still have broccoli, cabbages, and carrots to harvest later. Those I know how to handle. For now, I need to make some cornbread and ask God’s blessings on our sweet neighbor.