She's not afraid of trains. The other day we saw one weaving through the landscape in Brentwood and it kick-started her hyperactive prey drive. She's not afraid of straight pipes on Harleys either. She's not afraid of the school bus or airplanes or the FedEx man or even the vet.
Bugs. She's afraid of bugs. Have I written that? I can't remember. I can't get her attention but a tiny little moth can. The other night she shot out of her bed like a rocket and ran for the door.
"Stella," I said. "Babe. You're a Pit Bull." It gave her no comfort.
She flashed me a worried look and lay down in the doorway, refusing to come back in the room. When I finally turned out the light she gave it up and returned. Today she ran barking, from a silver fish and jumped up on the bed like a girl. It was hysterical.
I never get tired of looking at that face; had a cat like that once. Louie. He was so magnificent I couldn't replace him with another cat. I had to get a dog instead. Ahem.
p.s. You know those green caterpillars that have the capacity to level a nice perennial garden in about three days? This week - we're using those as treats.
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