Blogger's Excuse: The Lightning Ate My Router

Wow, has it really been three weeks since I've posted?! I have a good excuse -- well at least for last week. Write off the other two to post-holiday fatigue.

Last Saturday, a scarily close lightning strike hit a tree in my neighbor's yard, then zipped across the street to take out my wireless Internet router. And two of my three TV sets. The kitties and I were not happy.

But now I have a new, better, faster router (and a super-sized power strip) and a new, bigger, better flat screen HDTV. I am well and truly back in the blogging saddle.

Natural disasters can and do happen to anyone. Several years ago, lightning called at my sister's apartment. Literally. It came in through her doorbell. Had it not been for a big metal coat rack sitting smack dab in the middle of its path, the lightning bolt would have destroyed her entire home entertainment system.

In December 2008, a tornado topped off a pine tree in my back yard during its little rampage through Hattiesburg's Parkhaven neighborhood. It destroyed what Katrina had left of my neighbor's fence and left the neighborhood smelling piney-fresh, but otherwise did no harm.

And in 2005, well, you know.

I'm beginning to believe there may be a map somewhere with a big red "X" on my property. So I guess the moral to this story is: Invest in good power strips and make sure your electronics are always plugged into them. And unhook your cable when bad weather is in the forecast.

But natural disasters aren't all bad. According to the sports pundits, hell froze over last weekend in New Orleans. I'm pulling for a second deep freeze in Miami next Sunday.

Let's just hope Mother Nature doesn't get lost and stop by my house instead.

If she does, we'll all yell, "WHO DAT?"

I'm just saying.

My Feral Family

With the recent sub-freezing temps in the 'burg, I've been turning my attention to my other kitties. Yes, for two and a half years now, I've been cheating on my kitties with a little feral family -- Peggy Sue, Tux, Pegasus, Fergus and Funny Face -- in Oak Grove.

Actually, my two cat families are related. Roxie, who now lives in my house, was once part of the feral group. She is the mother of Peggy Sue and maw-maw to the other four.

Though the Oak Grove kitties are hopelessly wild, there are subtle, but telling, little acknowledgements of the relationship between us.

They know the sound of my car. Rain or shine, Tux waits expectantly by the pine tree every evening waiting for me to come feed them. I notice recently that he has trained his little brother Fergus to stand lookout with him. A sort of passing of the torch.


And they talk to me. Did you know that cats usually meow as a way to communicate with (ie: manipulate) the humans around them? Adult cats don't meow to communicate with each other.


Most telling -- when I returned from vacation after Christmas, Peggy Sue actually ran past the food, rubbed up against my legs and let me pick her up for 10 whole seconds -- the first sign of affection she has ever shown me. It actually brought tears to my eyes.


Funny how little gestures like that forge bonds. These cats will never be mine in the way the other kitties are, but still the urge to protect them is just as strong.


When the cold snap threatened, I created a makeshift shelter for the kitties out of boxes, plastic wrap, old blankets and shower curtains, and my Recurring Gentleman Caller's waterproof, thermal sleeping bag (Shhhh! He doesn't know this yet ).

And it seems I'm not the only softie out there. The new next door neighbor has been leaving his garage door open so they'll have someplace warm to sleep at night.


Sometimes it takes a village to raise a feral colony.

So far, so good. Thus far, everyone seems to be surviving the cold just fine.


New Year's resolution: Trap the kitties and get them fixed. It's the ultimate thing I can do for them.

Happy New Year From The House Where The Black Cat Lives

Despite being their namesake, the black cats around here don't really care for these New Year's Eve staples. The orange, grey and tortoiseshell kitties aren't crazy about them either.

Things got a little hairy at The House Where the Black Cats Live around midnight as the neighborhood erupted. We're all fine now, except for a few PTSD jitters. Champagne helps.

Here's to a happy 2010!