Whoever said cats slow down as they age didn’t know Ira. At eleven years old, he still loves a jaunt in the Great Outdoors. So what if it’s close to sundown and time for the coyotes to start prowling? Or if the huge gray owl that lives in the 200-year-old maple tree several hundred yards away has already announced he’s hunting?
Luckily, when Ira made his dash to discovery from an accidentally-ajar office door, he didn’t go far. He went around the office building and investigated a most interesting pile of old barn wood in the back.
And came out, festooned with cobwebs, when I called him (for the tenth or fifteenth time). Can’t deny there were some heart-pounding (and heartsick) moments until he made his grand entrance. (Stage center; cue the lights. Applause.)
A routine life is just too boring for a “little soldier,” I suppose. Is it possible he wants ‘his’ book to become a script?