'Life is a cabaret, old chum ... come to the cabaret' sings Liza Minnelli (78 today) ... the man on the radio talks of St Patrick and the Taoiseach and his trip to America bearing the usual bowl of shamrock ... the traffic lady talks of collisions, traffic jams and roundabouts and interchanges that may or may not be named after someone.
Not sure whether Lady Clemence and Augustus G Busterson are discussing such things. More likely to be pondering the various nighttime comings and goings.
Having fitted a camera out front, now I can see some of what they see.
There's a new cat, Fermata (small, fluffy, light ginger, plenty of cattitude) on the block that figures their shed is the local bistro. In they pop for biscuits and (ahem) lively banter. Not that Busterson has the finest table manner ... no showing of the menu, no offering of the cat gravy 'wine' list ... just protestations through the cat flap about taking liberties.
A fox came for a couple of nights. Circled around Clemence, but neither passed any remarks to the other. Foxy just wanted what most nighttime visitors want i.e. to be seated, shown the menu and bring me my order of cat food and make it snappy!
A local collie dog came and helped itself to one of the trays of food. Comical to watch the assessment of what was on offer and the decision to take the whole thing to consume elsewhere at leisure. I think I know who the dog belongs to and their predecessor did the same thing. A fine tradition to carry on, especially my finding and picking up of the discarded trays on the following day's walk.
There's a fine collection of crazy moths, bats and spiders also claiming their 5 minutes of camera fame, looking like glowing aliens taking to the stage. Bravo! And Encore!
So ... Come to the nighttime creature cabaret ... pull up a chair and be entertained ... but bring your own food and drink as there's not much left on the menu ;-)
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So I’m sitting downstairs minding my own business. I hear unholy screams that might be one of our cats fighting with another cat so I frantically shoo the inside cats upstairs so they don’t run outside and scramble out the door armed with my phone flashlight and my walking stick. (remember that flashlight)
I walk out and start calling for Sid who, once and a blue moon, gets into fights with other cats. Nothing. Not a sign of him. Knowing I won’t be able to rest until I look around, I start walking down the driveway.
Now, I live in the country. My house is hemmed in by fields, bushes and trees on all sides. We also have a bunch of outbuildings from when it was a proper farm. So I walk around one of these buildings, calling for Sid, and hear something scrabbling in the bushes. I stand still and listen as things settle, then call a couple more times.
SUDDENLY in the light of my phone flashlight I see GLOWING EYES staring out at me from the bushes. I am startled. The logical part of my brain knows this is probably a raccoon. The illogical part of my brain is certain this is a Beast or possibly a Fae and it is going to eat or abduct me.
I tentatively call for Sid again, hoping that perhaps that’s him in the bushes, confused as to why I’m out here at night (the poor boy has terrible eyesight so he frequently mistakes my family for Strangers from a certain distance).
The eyes continue to stare at me, unblinking and unnervingly bright. I slowly start to back away, stick firmly in hand. I walk back to my porch, my other cat Tansy following quickly beside me, looking over my shoulder all the way lest those eyes jump out and follow me.
I regain the porch and call for Sid a few more times. Tansy seems relieved I am in this safe, well lit place again. I hear a small noise and Sid runs out of the darkness, looking nervous. He is unharmed and I tell him he is a good boy and pet both cats thoroughly. Sid keeps starting anxiously in the direction I saw the Eyes. I do not like it.
With my cats’ safety assured I come back inside, not entirely sure what fate I just escaped, but unnerved nonetheless.
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You guys were oddly supportive of my creepy-Morgoth drawing. I’m concerned.
...
Anyway, here’s a mountain-sized Oromë who may or may not be fused to Nahar’s back.
That blurry thing above his right antler is a discarded drawing that didn’t erase properly, but we’re going to pretend it was intentional because if you look at it right you can pretend it’s Vala magic or something. Maybe aurora borealis is the trail of his antlers as he rides across the sky and whenever he stops moving you can see it forming into ghostly outlines of animals and monsters. Does Middle Earth already have lore for the northern lights or not?
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I hear noises and everyone's asleep it can either be my insane cats or those shadow things I keep seeing out of the corner of my eye
either way we're gonna turn our music way up and hope whatever it is leaves me alone
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