Scaredy-cat

I dunno what spooked Zoe yesterday, but she seems to have reconsidered the outdoors as a desirable place to be. Temporarily, no doubt.

After she came bashing in through the door I heard ravens croaking. They’ve been known to dive-bomb Click, who always keeps an eye on the zenith. The dogs keep other predators away, but ravens aren’t impressed by dogs. And ravens are actually benevolent in their way, because they can teach a cat caution but are unlikely to kill her. That’s the job of the hawks and the owls. The owls around here really ought to have Lockheed logos tattooed on their wings, they’re amazing.

There are rules she needs to learn, if she isn’t to spend her life indoors or just plan on a very short life:
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Maybe she got a harmless lesson on the first one yesterday. The second, she’s got down if she’ll only pay attention. The third and fifth are what usually kills tom cats around here, though my tom Butch was once badly wounded by what I think was an owl, and got away. Nighttime is when cats like to hunt, and also owls, which hunt cats among other things. He never liked the dogs, either. Butch wasn’t very smart, and stupidity is a capital crime here.