Gorillas in the Mist (aka Kittens in the Garage)

FIELD NOTES: Zero Hour

Mosiman garage

August 2013

The family pet alerted us to a disruption in the habitat. A scout confirmed the presence of an unsolicited feline, perched among the rafters. Once the dogs were removed from the area, we were able to chase her out. As silence descended again upon the seemingly empty garage, a strange scratching noise indicated that all was not well. A thorough investigation unearthed four newborn kittens.

FIELD NOTES: Hour One

Mosiman garage

August 2013

A committee meeting determined that, for their safety, the infants must be transferred to a new location. To keep the entire feline family intact, Plan A was implemented:

PLAN A:  Brad and I hid behind the shed with an unhindered view of our open garage, awaiting the arrival of the mother cat with the intention of closing her into the structure with her kittens. After a twenty minute wait, the mother cautiously arrived as we sat, frozen, nearby. We sprang into action as she darted into the garage but we did not anticipate her speed as she erupted, seconds later, with a kitten clutched in her protective mouth. Scratch Plan A.

FIELD NOTES: Hour Two

Mosiman garage

August 2013

The committee reconvened to strategize the least traumatic plan (for them and us) to unite and safely relocate the cat family to a more amicable habitat.

Blurred photo of Mama Kitty on the run

PLAN B: A variation of Plan A only making the kittens a tad more difficult for the mother to
access, thus giving us the time advantage to shut her securely in the garage with the three remaining babies. "But what about the one that's out there somewhere," I asked with great concern. Tired of this entire situation but determined not to have his garage smell of cat urine, Brad rolled his eyes. "The mother knows where she put it," he said, as though talking to a three-year-old. I stomped my feet and pouted. "I don't think we should move the family unless they are altogether."

Scratch Plan B.

FIELD NOTES: Hour One and a half

Mosiman garage

August 2013

When the committee members decided to talk to one another again, Plan C was constructed. Despite the complexity of the plan, we felt confident that we would be able to successfully implement it. 

PLAN C:  We again were situated in a low visibility area behind the shed, awaiting the arrival of the mother cat. Over the course of several hours (forgive the lack of time accuracy...I got bored and went in the house to watch tv), the adult female cat returned to the garage on three separate occasions to remove the remaining kittens and carried them away to an undisclosed location.

FIELD NOTES: The next day

Mosiman living room

August 2013

Epilogue: 

"Do field notes have epilogues," Brad asked dubiously, like he know everything about everything. "When did you veer from Dian Fossey to George Lucas?" Not sure whether to be annoyed or complimented, I decided to ignore my husband, a clever ruse that often sends him into a tailspin. Dazed and confused, he headed to the refrigerator. Glancing at the computer on the way back, he said, "Dazed and confused? I just wanted a Snapple." He popped the cap. "Hey," he said, reading the Snapple fact, "porcupines can float."

Epilogue Part II:

The family pet cannot be consoled. Haunted, day and night, she lurks around the garage door. We have allowed her full access to demonstrate vacancy but the smell drives her insane. A committee meeting has been scheduled to construct a plan to distract the dog. Hypnosis, acupuncture, and day rehab are on the agenda.

Wyoming's Apple "Fun"-kin Festival

            My anti-dusting stance has recently infiltrated my discriminatory shopping selections as I now actively abstain from purchasing “knick-knacks.” I also shy away from areas with randomly milling crowds as I tend to respond by flapping my hands furiously and breathing like Darth Vader to postpone the inevitable claustrophobic panic attack.  And bees...?  They must “comb” the airwaves for the latest “buzz” on Apple-Umpkin because those flying missiles are always there.  So, given that she can’t handle crowds, collectables, or creepy, crawly bugs, one might wonder why Amy Mosiman would voluntarily attend the annual Apple-Umpkin Festival in Wyoming.  Ok, I admit it.  Apple-Umpkin is fun and, after its over-twenty year reign, the event ushers in the season of autumn as effectively as a flock of honking geese.

            I attended this year’s festival in the company of six teen-agers.  I tell you this so that you will feel sorry for me right away.  Upon arrival, we were offered a free kitten to off-set the five dollar parking fee.  Generous as this promotion seemed, we gently declined the non-declawed feline and proceeded to browse Main Street, Wyoming.  Many teens lack a filter, particularly my friend, Meghan, who felt compelled to shout out prices at the top of her lungs in an outraged tone.  This is the same girl, by the way, who later inadvertently slapped a toddler out of his stroller.  There were many unique crafts on exhibit including recycled spoons made into decorative jewelry and glass soda bottles stretched into one-of-a-kind art pieces certain to rocket in value upon purchase.  We stood dumb-founded in front of the magic towel holder and watched with jealousy as people walked by us wielding giant foam bows and arrows. 

            The Wyoming Village Reception Hall hosted an antique show where I discovered a collection of small gnome figurines.  I know this breaks my new “knick-knack” rule but I have been spending the last few months terrorizing my dear friend Deb by sneaking suspicious items into her flowerbed.  The collection of used baby shoes that mysteriously appeared a few months ago almost drove her insane.  Her Google research led her to believe that she might be the victim of a voo doo curse so I felt it was time to up the ante and what could be more frightening than a gnome?  Four dollars a pop seemed a tad excessive but Meghan came through as she pointed out one with a chip on his nose.  “You should be able to get a deal on that one,” she said encouragingly.  I marched up to the vendor with my two dollars and showed him the flaw.  He inspected the gnome as though it were the Hope Diamond, shaking his head, and replying, “I couldn’t possibly.  I can’t even abide with the idea selling the set by piece.”  I felt terrible to be responsible for splitting up the gnome family but I had a voo doo curse to perform so I countered by offering another dollar.  The vendor looked painfully offended but said he had mouths to feed at home and so accepted my ludicrous deal.  Meghan’s boyfriend, Clay, bought barbeque sauce for the same price and tried bragging that his enjoyment would supersede mine, dollar for dollar.  Obviously, his youth clouds his judgment when it has to do with garden stalking and the mental manipulation of your closest friends. 

            Sitting on the spacious side porch of the art gallery adjoining the Hall, our group watched in rapt fascination and horror as black walnuts plummeted from the trees onto the parked cars below.  Whoomp!  A small sign invited musicians to enjoy the porch as a practice area so I led my group in a rousing rendition of Tanya Tucker’s, “There’s a tree…out in the backyard.”  Alright, you guessed it; I sang a lonely solo which was punctuated perfectly by percussion-based “whoomps!”   I also received no pity regarding my bee sting because “it didn’t leave a mark.”  We completed our Apple-Umpkin fun with samples of caramel-apple pie fudge and fresh-squeezed “diet” lemonade.  Not all accidents result in innovative inventions.  Penicillin and gun powder may be the exceptions because the inadvertent lack of sugar in my lemonade did nothing but leave a sour taste in my mouth.  Fortunately, the heat of that warm September day had everyone in my group begging for a sip and the look on their faces made the purchase completely worth it.   So if the traffic, the crowds, the bees, and the search for collectable treasures puts a sour look on your face, take heart.  Four free kittens found a home on Sunday and as a result, five dollar parking looked like the deal of a century!  It’s all about perspective.  

as published in Warsaw's Country Courier

http://www.mywnynews.com/arcade_warsaw/