The polecat blues

Ben has The Polecat Blues.

That's because he's on temporary Early Morning (best time to be out in the backyard, of course) "house arrest" following a bit of merry Bermtopian mayhem in The Back Forty yesterday:

I had gotten up early to whip up a marinade (try it! it's good!) for some chicken we were going to throw on the grill for dinner in honor of the Number 2 Son's last night at home. As I stood at the kitchen window juicing oranges, one of the neighborhood cats emerged from the flower bed.

(In itself is no big deal. As we've worked to increase and diversify our avian population, the feline population has increased proportionately, obviously attracted to the daily potential of an all-you-can-eat birdy buffet.

(This hasn't really panned out for the kitties since the finches stay firmly attached to their beloved seed socks while sparrows and other ground feeders are so manic they barely touch ground before swooshing up into the hedges during one of their bazillion daily community panic attacks.)

(But I digress.)

What caught my attention was Neighborhood Kitty's entrance. He was in full stalking mode -- but not all crouched down and furtive, but rather, fluffed up and out as if to challenge one of his feline peers, or god help us, our neighbor's annoying little dog, taking yet another unauthorized dump in our backyard.

Hmmm? Cat? Dog? Squirrel? What could it be? I wondered, and wander into the downstairs bathroom for a better view. . .

. . . of a ginormous skunk. Calmly noshing on cherries that had fallen from our cherry tree.

It's amazing how the human mind works. One minute I'm watching this (somewhat) pastoral scene of a darling little kitty stalking a big bad-ass skunk with benign bemusement -- and then the synapses started firing:

Skunk. Skunk? SKUNKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!

SKUNK ABOUT TO BE SURPRISED BY A CAT!!

IN OUR FREAKIN' BACKYARD!!

"Wonderfully Patient Spouse, come hereeeeeeeeeeeee," I hissed.

The WPS grasped the gravity of the situation immediately.

Activate Operation Polecat! which consists of the WPS heading into the garage to find something to gently chuck at our two visitors in the hope that they would both "gently" move on.

Apparently my Skunk Voice resembles my Squirrel Voice. Within seconds of hearing me hiss "Come hereeeeeeeeeee," Ben came skidding into the kitchen and across the vinyl floor, barking and churning around us like a big gray hula hoop.

I wasn't a complete slacker. I went for the camera to record The Event. No such luck. Following a goalkeeper's dive to my purse, I pulled out everything but the cam.

Nevertheless, the sounds of bumping and clumping in the garage -- and one hysterical dog -- did the trick. Skunk and kitty quickly disappeared in opposite directions.

Which leaves poor Ben in early morning house arrest until we ascertain whether our black-and-white friend is merely passing through or has decided to join the motley cast of characters residing at The Nine-One-Four on a permanent basis.

MEMO TO OUR "GOOD" FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Please leave all anal scent glands at the door.

Thank you.

The Management