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Linoose on the loose. September 28, 2008

Posted by ourfriendben in pets.
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Silence Dogood here. Yesterday, we had a jailbreak here at Hawk’s Haven when our cat Linus escaped from the house because, ahem, someone was standing in the open deck door talking to the outside cats instead of stepping onto the deck and shutting the door behind him. (As a result, our friend Ben has been assigned litterbox cleanup duty until further notice.)

Now, Linus is the most beautiful cat you could ever hope to see. Majestic in size, with long, luxuriant fur, lustrous black mackerel tabby markings, a white chest, underbelly, paws, and muzzle, and enormous seagreen eyes, Linus is the Errol Flynn of cats. Unfortunately, he inherited the brains of Errol Flynn as well as his looks, which means he’s not only not the brightest bulb on the string, he’s not even on the string. He’s such a loose screw that, more often than not, we refer to him as Linoose.

Poor Linus. He likes to squeak at us in a soft, tiny, high-pitched voice just to let us know what he’s up to: “Look, I’m over here. Now I’m walking over here. I’m going to stretch out on this rug so that I’m six feet long. Now I’m sitting up. Wait, what am I doing here? And who are these other animals?!” But what he lacks in IQ he more than makes up for in looks and a loving temperament.

We recognized Linus’s mental deficiencies, as well as the hazards his long coat would pose outdoors, soon after his feral mother first deposited him on our deck. Our outdoor cats are generally content to lounge on the deck or patrol the yard, keeping away from the road. But Linoose? He’d probably make straight for the highway, then stop in the middle of it because he’d forgotten what he was doing, not to mention who he was and where his home was. It was clear that he had to come inside.

Linus’s super-smart sister, Layla, was damned if she wasn’t coming inside with him, so after some consultation and hand-wringing, we welcomed them both indoors. Lucky for us, their only bad habit is nonstop talking. Layla is by far the smartest cat we’ve ever had. Linoose takes the prize for rock-dumbness. Go figure.

So of course it was poor Linoose who ended up bolting out onto the deck when OFB provided an opening. And, once out there, he clearly didn’t have a clue. (Shock surprise, as Ruby Ann Boxcar would say.) His lamplike eyes twice their normal size, Linus looked around him, ignoring our frantic attempts to entice him back inside, and finally lurched over the side of the deck, disappearing underneath. Our calls failed to bring him back up from his subterranean hideout, though we could hear a nonstop squeaking in response.

Our friend Ben has been forbidden to post on the remarks made to him by certain extremely irate parties in the wake of this negligence. Like the brilliant baron of commerce or genius physicist who falls for the dumb blonde, I love our Linus with all my heart. The thought of him getting hit in the road or lost is unbearable to me. Despite attempts at reassurance on the part of our friend Ben, I was beside myself while Linoose was on the loose. I rushed out onto the deck, calling pathetically every five seconds. Usually Linus would make a brief appearance, squeaking all the while, then dive back out of sight before I could get anywhere near him. My last nerve was in shreds.

Actually, it was Layla who finally came to the rescue. I was once again calling Linus, who had emerged from his subterranean lair and was staring at me blankly. “Who are you? Where am I? Is that my name?! What am I supposed to do now?!” Then he saw Layla, who was basically sitting there glaring at him. “You moron! Now look what you’ve done!” Turning a fascinated eye upon this obviously superior creature, Linoose inched nearer to the door. I, having had a rush of brains to the head (in the immortal words of a friend’s mother), simply got far enough out of the way to let him amble back inside.

Let me just say that I couldn’t slide the door shut fast enough. I consigned the sodden, burr-covered Linus to our friend Ben, whose job was now to remove the burrs and towel off the worst of the wetness. I don’t know who hated this experience most, Ben or Linus, but at least I feel certain that Linoose had completely forgotten the entire episode before he was even released from the towel.

             ‘Til next time,

                      Silence

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Comments»

1. Barbee' - September 28, 2008

That is a cute, cute story! Whew! I think I was holding my breath as I read it. Now, I can breathe. Glad he’s back home OK. OFB does still live there, doesn’t he?

I was holding my breath, too, Barbee’! Fortunately, Linus is as dry, fluffy, and oblivious as ever today. Lucky for OFB!!!

2. Cinj - September 28, 2008

LOL. Poor Linus. I could totally relate. As I was reading your story I was reminded of one of our own experiences.

Sweetie once made it outside and promptly fell into our window well because all of the loud noises outside scared her and she was running for cover. Lucky for us she couldn’t get out of the deep window well on her own, so it was rather easy to round her back up. I sent Peanut in after her since I was fairly certain if I climbed in I’d be stuck in there with her. Sppedy hissed at her for weeks after the escape, I’m not sure if she was jealous or what her deal was. At least I know she’s smart enough not to try that again. I was also glad the window well was cockleburr free as I am sure her fur would have been a magnet for them!

Since Linus is so beautiful and Layla is so smart I was wondering if this is a situation where one of them got all of the brains and the other got all of the looks.

Poor Peanut! And yes, I definitely think Linus got the beauty, while Layla is the brains of the operation!

3. sjones71 - September 29, 2008

Poor Linus! I share your love for cats. My favorite calico growing up was named Bandit and she was my constant companion. My wife (girlfriend at the time) likes to think that the cat was spooky just because she used to knock my wife’s picture over.. jealous, jealous lovely cat.

When my mom called me at college to let me know that Bandit hadn’t come back inside I was forlorn. I was home the next weekend, combing the woods, clicking my tongue for her. The coyote sightings had made me fear that she suffered a brutal ending. And to this day I don’t know what happened to her but I have an irrational hatred of coyotes.

These days it’s one indoor cat, one outdoor hunter cat and one dopey happy loyal border collie. (I taught him to herd coyotes into danger!)

Poor Bandit! Good dog!!! Cats good, coyotes bad, very bad. They’re supposed to be everywhere now, along with black bears, but fortunately, we haven’t seen either here… yet…


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