Greetings, gentles all! We pray that you are doing well. Buddy and the caretaker have moved out of Stratford Palace to a new home, Eastminster Estate, where Buddy has plenty of everything he needs, including another hooman to attend upon his every need. The grounds of this estate provide infinitely more interesting scenery than did Stratford Palace, so that Buddy wonders from time to time why he endured living in squalor for so many years while places like his current home were patiently waiting for him to take possession.
And thus we come to the reason for this new post. When such a regal cat owns an estate that is furnished with everything he could possibly need, it is only fitting for him to defend it from lawless bands of roving squirrels or any other such fell beasts that might set paw upon his land. Mind you, a steady stream of extra hoomans bringing packages of cat food or repairing the attic dragon or otherwise fulfilling important tasks is perfectly acceptable. Tonight, even the hordes of short hoomans dressed as cartoons and carrying orange buckets filled with sweets did not alarm this noble monarch, accustomed as he is to play-acting and treat gathering himself.
But the serenity of this particular All Hallows Eve was disrupted by the arrival of a rival, and Buddy could not let this offense go unchecked.
Let us rewind a bit. Over the weekend, the caretaker had taken care to buy the very best candy—not those vile peanut butter taffy tooth-muggers, but miniature pieces of chocolate heaven, which at least one parent will confiscate tonight, ostensibly for his child’s own good. The caretaker then began to consider the perils of the brick steps that lead to the front door, wondering if they might be too steep for little legs to manage. Thus it was that the caretaker, dressed like a crazy cat lady and armed with a bright lantern and a plastic bowl of individually wrapped miniature chocolates, found herself standing on the driveway waiting for passing children to demand candy from her. Thus it also was that she began to question her life choices, but that is another post for a different blog.
For a while, the plan went perfectly. The lantern illuminated the children’s path up the driveway, and they retrieved their candy without having to climb Mount Doom. All the while, Buddy dozed inside on the back of the couch and dreamed of chickens simmering in oversized saucepans.
Then just as a young witch* and her parents were walking away with their chocolates, the caretaker felt a familiar soft thud on the outside of her ankle. She already knew what was happening, even before she saw the small ginger cat (later dubbed as Caramel Chaos or CC) that was rubbing itself on her legs, trying very hard to befriend her. As much as the caretaker loves cats in general, she loves Buddy in particular, and all she could think of was that CC could be transferring fleas or ticks or nasty diseases onto her clothing, and she wanted it to stop. Then CC noticed that the next-door neighbor was going inside, so she made a dash for it and just barely missed the opportunity to spend a warm night indoors.
The caretaker will always regret not taking that opportunity to return to the safety of her own home. Yet for some reason, she felt compelled to make sure the neighbor got inside safely, not considering that the same fate was about to befall her, which became all too evident as CC scampered across the yard, rushed past her, and tried to trip her as she ascended the steep brick steps.
It is thus that we catch up to the moment of truth, where Buddy met CC face-to-face through the thin glass door. The stage of Eastminster Theater, as the brick front porch had now become, was tense with the sound of the caretaker trying to move CC away from the front door, while finding at every turn that the little dickens was much too quick for her. Seeing that CC was attempting to steal his caretaker, Buddy sprang into action, working as hard to get out the door as CC was working to get in. Upon seeing Buddy, CC crouched down and started to hiss like a punctured balloon. Meanwhile, the caretaker began to wonder how uncomfortable it would be to sleep on the porch.
Having exhausted all her resources, the caretaker did the only sensible thing remaining. She rang the doorbell to recruit the help of The Other Boy Who Lived (henceforth to be called “The Boy”), whose common sense and affability saved the caretaker from her terrible predicament. Seeing his other hooman on the job, Buddy turned away, de-escalating the crisis from the inside, and The Boy used a pillow for a barrier to keep him from running outside. Meanwhile, the caretaker set the flashlight down to distract CC while she hopped inside as quickly as she could. With all residents of Eastminster present and correct, The Boy closed the door and turned off the porch light, saying a fond farewell to another Halloween.
Happy Howl-oween
from Buddy
*Please know, gentle readers, that this term is not a judgment upon the character of the child in question. She was dressed as a witch, which no doubt had nothing to do with her treatment of others, as she was in all ways polite, wishing the caretaker a good evening and thanking her for the candy.
The adventures of Buddy & Bear 