I don't like boats, I don't like water, and I don't like you you stupid haggis!

Those were the words that echoed in my mind as I tottered atop the ladder staring into the fear-filled eyes looking back at me...

I was sitting at my computer at 7-something in the morning, wondering what I should write about on the blog.  In the other room I could hear Patty going outside to let the dogs in.  Shortly thereafter I heard her yell "CHUCK!"  This is the warning cry of the angry wife letting me know that our younger dog Cassiopeia has bolted and managed to get away.

I trotted into the kitchen and through the washroom window I could see Patty marching up into the woods, while Cassie bounded around the base of a tree, barking at something... a squirrel maybe?  Thinking quickly, I ran into the pantry and got the plastic tub that contained Cassie's favorite treats, and then ran outside shaking the tub and calling "Cassie wanna cookie?"

Unfortunately Cassie wasn't having any of it.  She was going to get whatever was in that tree, and she was cunning enough not to let either Pat or I get close to her because she knew if we managed to grab her the fun was over.  Even the opening of the tub and the waving of a disgustingly aromatic treat was not going to tear her away.  It went something like this:

"Cassie want a nummy?"

"You eat it. I'm busy."

"Nummy, nummy!"

"Eff off, will you?"

Meanwhile in the hustle and the bustle, between dodging Pat and I, Cassie lost track of the tree her prey was in, and began rather ridiculously barking up and jumping at the trunk of a tree 20 feet away at NOTHING!

It was at this moment that her prey decided to take advantage at this display of abject stupidity and leaped from it's perch some 10 feet up in the other tree, revealing that it was not a squirrel at all but a chunky black and white house cat.  The cat landed with a thump so loud that Patty gave a yelp of surprise.  Cassiopeia heard the cat land too, and set off like a shot after it.

 "Dammit!" I yelled and again Pat and I began trying to flank the retarded dog on both sides.

You know how barbarians sometimes are called "berserkers"?  They go mad with battle rage and nothing can stop them?  Cassie is something like that when she gets it into her walnut-sized brain that it's time to play the "run from Mom and Dad" game.  I'm quite sure that someday she is going to run in front of a moving car (fortunately today was not that day) because her powers of observation during this insane state drop off dramatically.

How dramatically?  As Cassie pursued her feline target across the leaf-strewn floor of our woods, she ran right past a second cat without even noticing it!  This was a black and gray tabby that lives a few houses down.  With a look of pussycat amazement on its face, the tabby comically swiveled its head from right to left, twice, as first the black cat and then Cassie tore past, and then suddenly remembered something really important that it had to do somewhere else and slinked away.

"Well at least the cat is out of the tree," I noted as Cassie and the black cat disappeared behind the compost pile.  It was precisely 1 second after the words were out of my mouth that the cat appeared, clawing its way up another tree and stopping about 25 feet up the trunk.   Cassie missed this little maneuver came running from out the other side of the compost pile, glancing around and trying to figure out where the cat was.  Eventually she decided the cat must have run into the hedge and dove in there.

Unfortunately for Cassie the hedge's only exit is the same hole she went in, and when she reemerged there was Mom, looking somewhat unhappy.  Cassie was cornered and immediately surrendered, plopping her ass down on the ground and wagging her tail.

"Hi Mom!"

"Come on you," Patty said, grabbing her collar and leading her back to the house.  Partway across the driveway Cassie noticed the open tub of treats and tried to stick her nose in.

"Hey COOKIES!"

"No.  No cookies for you."

Once Cassie was safely serving out her sentence inside, I went back outside to check on the cat.  Unfortunately, the cat was clearly stuck, having climbed far higher up the tree than it was comfortable with, and was mewling pitifully for help.

I tried coaxing it down from the ground, but the cat was unimpressed.

"Hey puss-puss, it's safe you can come down now."

"Are you crazy? Come up and get my fuzzy ass!  It was your stupid dog that put me here."

"Jump into the leaf pile, puss, it's thick and fluffy."

"How do I know there isn't a big rock under there?"

"Come on kitty."

"That damn tabby.  This is the last time I let him take me anywhere on a date."

Seeing that this was getting us nowhere, I decided to go to the garage and fetch the extending ladder.  Have I mentioned I'm afraid of heights?

The ladder was very wobbly and the ground was anything but even, and after getting a few rungs up it I decided I was going to need Pat to hold it steady.  After fetching her from the house, I went into the barn and put on some work gloves--better for handling terrified cats.

Soon I was back on the ladder and trying to fight both my fear of heights and the ladder's wobbliness.  The tree was not quite as wide as the ladder, and so the ladder kept wanting to twist around the trunk this way or that way.  It made getting up there a very ginger process.  I could only reach the cat by getting very close to the end of the ladder (3rd rung from the top), and I was beginning to appreciate just how scary it was up there.

Complicating the matter was that the cat had found slightly better purchase on the other side of the trunk where there was a small branch to sit on, and was therefore harder for me to get at.  When I was finally able to touch the cat, it tensed up and hunched against the tree.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!  What's with the touching?!  This rescue isn't going to involve any touching is it?"

"It's okay puss, I'll get you down."

"Oh like I'm going to trust you!  Can't you just lower the tree?"

Eventually I managed to find the scruff of her neck and tried to pull her from her perch.  I was very nervous about this because I really didn't want her to latch on to my arm or worse, my face.  I like my eyes where they are thank you.  Unfortunately my leverage wasn't very good, and I seemed to have found myself attempting to rescue the bionic pussycat, with claws stronger than steel.  I tugged and tugged for all I was worth, but she wouldn't come off the tree.

Eventually she came around to my side of the trunk and I could see that she was quite big and had huge paws.  I was very worried that she might jump on my head, because she seemed to be trying to figure her own way out of her predicament that didn't involve me.

The Tree Where the Cat Was

She was very good natured though, she never howled angrily at me, hissed, or tried to claw me, but she was clearly terrified.

"Can you drop her in the leaf pile, Chuck?" Pat asked.

"Only if I can get her off the tree!" I called down.

Again I grabbed her scruff and tried to pull her off the tree.  My leverage was better but she was infernally strong.  At one point I was tugging for all I was worth and her whole body was off the tree but her legs were completely outstretched and her claws were firmly lodged in the bark.

"I don't like trees, I don't like heights, and I don't like you, you stupid haggis!"

Finally Pat suggested we try a pillowcase.  Lynnea ran inside to get one and I climbed down the ladder to retrieve it.  Meanwhile the cat didn't budge, but watched me as I climbed back up with the pillowcase.

"What is THAT?"

"Hey puss, wanna go for a ride in the pillowcase?"

The cat pulled back at the sight of the bag.  Just my luck, the cat thought the pillowcase was scarier than the tree.

"You know what, I changed my mind, I don't want to be rescued!  This is a nice tree!  I could be happy here!"

"Come on now puss it's okay."  The cat responded by trying to climb higher.  "Do NOT do THAT!" I said grabbing her by the scruff quickly, and wouldn't you know it?  She came completely off the trunk.

I dropped down one rung and placed her on a lower branch over the leaf pile without letting go of her neck.  The branch was too narrow for her to stand on but provided support while I tried to get the pillowcase over her.  But she wasn't having it, and pulled away as I tried to bag her up, which was nigh impossible to do one-handed.  I lost my grip on her at that point and she fell, managing to miss the center of the leaf pile, but landing in a lesser leaf pile off to the side.  She touched down with a gentle rustle of leaves and then (predictably) bolted away and ran home.

I unsteadily climbed down the ladder to my waiting wife.

"I'm proud of you Chuck, that was very brave."

"Yeah, brave... that's how I feel right now," I said sarcastically, "thank heavens for Paxil."

So that was my morning excitement, all things being equal, I'd rather it hadn't happened, but at least now I had something to write about!

Sentenced to Seven Hours in the Crate