Raymond: Misdemeanors on Marnell Avenue

He's is not that bright. In fact, he may be proof that evolution can go in reverse.

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Clack! Clack! Clickety clackety. Click! CLACK!

“What the hell is going on?” I look at the clock. It’s four in the morning. Click! Clack! I get out of bed to investigate and find it is Raymond, our cat. He is outside, trying to get in through the cat door holding a long stick in his teeth. Sideways, of course. Raymond is not that bright. In fact, he may be proof that evolution can go in reverse.

“Well, that is not going to work out for you, buddy. Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?” It’s a cat-teaser, a long thin stick with a string on the end and a bunch of orange chicken feathers. Clack! Clack! “Give me that thing, dingbat, before you hurt yourself.” Raymond steps through the door looking proud. He only has two looks, actually - proud and sleepy.

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My wife stumbles out, slippers scuffing on the floor, to see what sort of mayhem is taking place in the living room. “Where the heck did he get that? I didn’t buy that for him. Did you?”

“Nope,” I answer. “He must have found it … maybe dragged it in from the alley.” Meanwhile, Claude ( the other cat) sneaks in, grabs the orange-feathered thing and drags it down the hall, tripping on the string as he goes. He’s an opportunist.

It is slowly becoming clear to me. Last week when I was vacuuming, I found three cat toys I didn’t recognize. They were behind the sofa – a fuzzy ball, a felt mouse with a bell, and a velvet ladybug catnip thing. I just threw them in the cats’ toy basket, assuming my wife had bought them.

Then yesterday, she found a squeaky red chenille rooster. It was under the kitchen table with its wattles chewed off . “When did you buy this?” she asked me. “Don’t you think they have enough toys?”  “I didn’t buy it,” I said.

We have a mystery. Raymond, apparently has been out “shopping” somewhere in the neighborhood. So, this afternoon I throw all the unknown toys in a box and go door-to-door down the block. “My cat has been bringing home toys and I wonder – do any of these belong to you?” I ask. The first four houses have no cats. At the fifth house, the woman says, “For heaven’s sake! I was wondering what happened to those. I thought Fluffy was burying them in the yard or something.”

I apologize and hand her the box of toys. She is a good sport. She laughs and points out the cat entrance in her back door. Raymond, apparently, was breaking and entering during the night to see what he could find of interest and just helping himself. She says she will keep the cat door locked for a few nights to discourage his thievery. I promise to return anything else I find.

I can see the headlines in the Sentinel now “Cat Burglar Apprehended on Marnell Street - Incarcerated”.

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Sharron Bassano