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Thursday, August 14, 2008

Early Morning Sporting Event

Ben, the cat is in the dog house, IdaMae, the dog, rules the roost, and Joe, the DH, is a DH. That is to say, Ben completely shirked his duties as resident varmint control officer, Ida saved the day, ur, night, um early morning, by awaking us to the danger and mayhem, and Joe's skills as DH (designated hitter) were exemplary.

At approximately 5:00 AM while Ben sat nonchalantly in the window sill waiting and watching for the birds of morning to awake. Ida was prancing about. I could hear her doing what I thought was her pee-pee dance. It was almost 5:00, about the time she usually goes out for the first time in the morning (Joe is usually up by then, it's his thing to take her out in the morning not mine) After the 3rd prance around the bed, I realized through my foggy sleepiness that 1) Joe wasn't up yet 2) Ida was not making her I-wanna-go-out noises as she danced. Strange. Very Strange. Then Joe uttered the words that strike fear in me to my very core. "Honey, Ida's chasing a bat." Upon hearing that I went into fetal mode, curling into a tiny ball I dove under the quilt. I'm such a big help. :o/

I could hear Joe saying things like, "I don't know how I'm going to get him out of there, the ceiling fan is messing him up" and "I'm going to need something to catch him" "Good dog Ida." "Ben what's the matter with you?" If he asked for my help I didn't hear it, nor was he likely to get it. I did offer a piece of advise telling him where the tennis racket was, at least I think uttered the words, I thought it, but can't be sure I actually formed the words and verbalized them, fetuses do not normally speak.

The next part of the story I can only relate by what has been reported back to me, but it seems that Jim Thome has some competition, or perhaps it's Roger Federer or Tiger Woods. As the offending varmint flew from the bedroom, leaving me in all my fetus-ness, and into the kitchen, the Hermitage's own DH, with tennis rack in hand, swung at the break away fast ball, um, fur ball with leathery wings. The creature hit the window, and fell squarely into a small bowl that sat on the window sill, a hole in one*. YEA! GO TEAM HERMITAGE!

The visiting Bat 0 the Hermitage Swatter 1.

Not a lot more to tell of the story except that the Hermitage Swatter could use a new uniform. Joe came into the bedroom with tennis rack firmly held over small bowl containing his opponent and asked if I could open the front door to release his catch. Sure no problem as long as the thing was contained, but there was one other small task I had to perform before opening the door. I had to pull his pants up. :o)

*I can't be sure a bat was not injured in these events, even though he did in fact fly away, but this is my house and he has no business trespassing.