Pawed-Cast 1: Up All Night With Raymond

Catly Night Notes from East Santa Cruz - a 5-minute read

Sep 18, 2023

RAYMOND Photo courtesy of WallpaperSafari.com

It’s three in the morning, friends, and you are listening to

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ UP ALL NIGHT WITH RAYMOND ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

Welcome back to all my insomniac subscribers! Thanks for tuning in to my nightly pawed-cast for all the catly news and gossip from here on the left side of Santa Cruz, going out to furry night owls around the wide world.

I was hoping to have an interview for you tonight with noted Brit writer and catman,

Terry Freedman

, but word has it that last night he was detained by his local constabulary for speeding erratically in and out of a bike lane on his ten-speed — wearing his pajamas and is temporarily incommunicado.. We’ll try again tomorrow. Worth the wait, guaranteed!

So, I am sitting out here in the garden tonight under a fluorescent full moon that’s as big and round as a sewer lid. The delicious sardine scent of the low tide is floating on the light breeze off the harbor all the way up to Marnell Street tonight and the hydrangea blooms are shimmering in the moonlight like huge botanical silver dollars. Another clear, beautiful night on the Monterey Bay.

It is very quiet here in the garden at three a.m. , except for Ms. Fassbinder’s TV in the house next door, which is on 24 hours a day. She can’t sleep unless the TV is tuned to the Shopping Channel. Living alone can be tough.

Okay, friends! Here is your Weekly Cat Scan

• It was quite a Sunday, as Sundays go. I scored big first thing this morning. I was on a chair under the kitchen table, waiting to make my move. When Mary went out to get the newspaper, I snagged a doughnut and ran to the closet with it. Custard-filled, with chocolate frosting and peanuts. My favorite! (Except for the peanuts which I conveniently left in Mary’s shoe.) I heard her say to Dennis, “Hey! What the hell happened to my custard doughnut?” He said he hadn’t seen it. She was suspicious and slapped down the hall in her bunny slippers, mumbling.

• Dennis finally nailed shut the cat door in the back fence. He’d had enough of Clawdius, the teenage felis catus from up the alley, who has been invading our territory and drinking from my fountain every day, hoping to provoke a dust-up. I snagged his collar off of him three different times and sent him packing, but it was getting tiresome, because now I have this unsightly scratch on my left ear and, really, all this nonsense cuts into my nap time. So, always handy with a hammer, Dennis stepped in and ended the problem. Clawdius kept sauntering over to peer in through the wire all afternoon, but he hasn’t tried to climb the fence. I remain vigilant.

• Ms. Fassbinder came over to borrow me today. She’d found a tiny errant shrew hiding under her potting table and she was disturbed by it. Mary loaned me out, and I am not at all sure I like being treated like a servant. I mean they didn’t ask me if I was even interested in the job. But in any case, it turned out to be an easy two-minute dispatch. Ms Fassbinder offered me a treat in payment. I held out for two, and left the ex-shrew lying in the row of cabbages. Disposal was not part of the deal.

• I sat out by the mailbox and watched the action in the dog park across the street this afternoon. It is always mildly amusing. Dogs are so incredibly dumb, so easily entertained: Chase the ball, return the ball, chase the ball, return the ball. You get the picture.

That young Labradoodle was jumping around with the Cockapoo again. They always start out having fun, rolling around and chasing each other, but they get out of control every time and start seriously snarling and biting. So they had to be shamed, leashed and taken home. I think some of the adults in this neighborhood who drink themselves silly down at the corner brew pub, should be shamed, leashed and taken home, too, but that’s another story.

I never actually go near the dog park, myself. I watch from my side of the street. Later, I get the details from my canine friend, Otto-Miguel, who is a small dog — half dachshund and half chihuahua. He calls himself a Chiweenie, as if his lineage would impress me. He speaks pretty good Cat, but with a German-Spanish accent.

• And, speaking of lineage, my own ancestors were identified early on as Maine Coons, but it was an unfortunate error. It has recently been confirmed that I descend from a long line of proud Norwegian Forest cats. Frankly, they can call me anything they want, as long as they call me on time for dinner.

• It has been two weeks since Dennis allowed a stranger to sleep in the front bedroom — my bedroom, in my bed. I refuse to sleep in there after guests have used my bed, and have been boycotting the room ever since. But … I am starting to miss the sun that falls onto the bed through the window about four in the afternoon. Maybe I have punished him long enough.

Well, that’s it for tonight, friends! I am happy to announce that this pawed-cast now has subscribers in 28 states and 28 countries. All thanks to you! Remember, listeners, if you have questions or comments message me at Ray@UANWR.com Please come again tomorrow night, and tell your friends it’s time to start staying

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