Lady Marmalade

Yesterday, the irresitably cute Marmalade was delivered in her cage. She even came with a toy. I didn't see her up close. Like the Faulkner novel character I'm becoming, I just gazed at her through my upstairs bedroom window. I let the Husband deal with the uber-friendly Amie who was making the delivery.

About an hour after Marmalade's arrival, the Husband tracked me down to sheepishly inform me that he had fallen under the spell of Marmalade's charms He had taken her out of her cage to pet. He reported that she was a very beautiful and affectionate cat.

Great! I replied.

But, the Husband continued, when he had tried to put her back in the cage, Marmalade bolted away.

Bummer, I consoled.

A few hours later, I received an e-mail from Marmalade's Amie. It was a very emotionally effusive letter telling me what a wonderful beautiful cat Marmalade is, and that if we didn't want Marmalade, or if we had any problems, the Amie would be more than willing to take her back. I didn't have the heart to tell the woman that Marmalade had already split.

A few more hours passed and the Amie telephoned while I was in the village. The Amie told the Husband that she had someone who wanted to take Marmalade in as a house cat. The Husband scoffed at this ridiculous idea pointing out that Marmalade had already failed her trial run as a house cat, and that Marmalade's current situation gave her all the companionship she could desire . . .two other cats, two friendly dogs, nine playful sheep, and plenty of mice and rats. Cat Valhalla.

Thwarted in her attempt to repossess Marmalade, the Amie resignedly hung up.

It's been twenty-four hours since Marmalade took off, and we haven't seen any sign of her. I assume she's out back, at the edge of the mill pond, eating baby ducks that are infected with the avian flu virus.