I awoke at 5:30 in the morning to the sound of mockingbirds giving chase to a predator.  This has become my new alarm clock and, at least the majority of the time, indicates Vazra has arrived.  I rolled over in bed to look out the windows and immediately saw him approaching the fence.  It must be time for some morning lovin’ and breakfast.

I got up, groggily pulled on some shorts and slipped on a pair of shoes, then went to the kitchen to fetch the outside bowls.  After filling one with fresh water and the other with cat food, I stepped outside.

Vazra, of course, wants attention first, so I did not disappoint him.  He purred contentedly and rubbed against me as I petted him, stroking his fur and scratching his head, and all the while, I spoke to him.  He did not take interest in the food and water yet.  Instead, he wanted to soak up as much lovin’ as he could.

From around the corner came the sound of rustling in the groundcover under the bushes.  Something was approaching.  Having seen them early in the morning on their way back to their daytime sleeping quarters, I anticipated it would be an opossum.  It was not.

Two raccoons walked nonchalantly around the outside of the fence until they arrived in the place where I normally scatter food at night.  They must be looking for leftovers.  In fact, I was certain that was precisely what they were doing, and it’s something I’ve seen all of the wildlife do: make one last stop at the buffet table to make sure they hadn’t missed anything.

Vazra in the meantime rushed to the fence to watch them go by and even hissed a time or two as if to say it was his time to be here and they could just leave.  But they didn’t.  In fact, they rummaged about outside the fence as they made their way toward the patio.  As I was standing right by the fence, this gave me a great view of both of them.  The sun was just starting to light the sky although it had not yet peeked above the horizon; therefore, there was ample light by which to see them.

As Vazra and I looked on, both raccoons cautiously approached the fence with deliberate intent.  They were less than a yard (a meter) away from me when both stuck their heads through the fence and sniffed the air, all the while watching us.  They could smell the fresh cat food.

Standing with masked faces pressed through too small holes in the fence, they glanced at me, then at Vazra, then at the food, then back to me.  Their noses were active the entire time.

I burst into laughter.  It was like a parodical mixing of Oliver Twist and Animal Farm.  The two raccoons played the pathetic card with ease and cunning.  The two faces pushed through the fence, no more than an arm’s reach away from me, inundating me with powerful beady eye action.  It tickled me so.

When one of them carefully placed one front paw on the fence as if to begin climbing, I quietly said, “No.  You’ve had yours.  This is for Vazra.  You stay on that side of the fence.”

He again turned toward me with the most needy expression and looked me directly in the eye.  I could already here it, the pathetic, whimpering voice weakened by starvation.  “Please, sir, may we have some more?”  An empty bowl, had he possessed one, would have been held out warily at that point, a question unto itself (e.g., “Please, sir, my bowl is empty and I’ve not eaten in quite some time.  Could you spare perhaps a bit more to eat?”).

Again I laughed, a hearty and welcome laugh that welled up from deep within me.  The raccoons never moved during this cacophony of mirth.  Their heads stayed poked through the fence and they continued glancing between Vazra, the food, and me.  The visual of the masked midnight marauders playing pitiful parts in this play was a joy to behold.

With the sun continuing to rise and the day filling with light, their time was up.  They had to leave if they were going to make it home before too much activity placed them in danger.  They backed away from the fence and, punctuated with constant backward glances as if to see if I changed my mind, they ploddingly walked back the way they came.  One of them paused just long enough to climb three feet (a meter) up the tree so he could peer over the fence at me.  I laughed again.  These two were real pieces of work.

Lacking hope I would acquiesce, they eventually walked back around the fence and off into the morning light.  Vazra stayed in the “on guard” position near the fence and spoke loudly at them as they went.  Once they were out of sight, he turned and came back for more attention before finally diving into the food—food he just stood his ground to protect.

To continue the line of thought started with Inter spem et metum…

I just returned from taking Wylie for a long walk at the lake, time filled with Frisbee fun and undisturbed, quiet contemplation.  It was like fading into the background noise of dawn’s zephyr.

Within depths hitherto unknown to me struggles some long forgotten beast, a wounded and suffering creature, a thing striving not to drown in its own tears of torment.

Failing to comprehend this disposition, searches of id, ego, and superego lay fruitless in a wasteland of reflection.  What vexes me so?

Answers elude me.  Weight heretofore unfamiliar besets me sans explanation.  It is a mysterious place that I have gone to in recent weeks, an alien landscape of fatigue and worry and sorrow.  It is the smothering of self in places to which I dare not go yet which already surround me.

I stand perplexed and unguided, tossed about by tumultuously uncontrolled feelings riding high upon my own bewilderment.  Where is this place?  Why am I here?

Is it too much Animal Planet with the contemptible ups and downs in the likes of Animal Precinct, The Little Zoo That Could, Animal Planet Heroes, Emergency Vets, Growing Up…, and similar programs demonstrable of both the admirable best and horrifically worst of humanity?  Is it my continuing and growing concern for both Chira and Vazra?  Or is the oppressive heat zapping me of strength?  Is it concern over sudden estrangement from a few?  Perhaps something else entirely?

This conundrum befuddles me.  For reasons I fail to understand, a frustrating slowness of mind plagues my every thought while a dispirited cloak of sadness envelopes my essence.  Have I become lost?

Even now I cling to the last vestiges of answers I can not grasp as they elude me, and I stand exposed in the radiant fire of unknowing.  I live as dead and breathe as buried whilst the core of me dances unseen in shadows deep.

Thing by cherished thing slips away from me.  Witnessed plodding and devastation of my nature engender unease and cataclysmic apprehension.

In light of this darkness, blogging in the next few — or even several — days will undoubtedly embrace less prolific thoughts and will instead delve only into those topics of more shallow origins.  Imaginably, I suspect at the heart of the matter is a certain sense of cognitive and emotional fatigue, the indescribable malaise of the spirit if you will, and reaching the surface for breath and light increasingly eludes my capabilities.

I therefore preemptively beg your pardon while I seek to recharge my life batteries through introspection and contemplation.  As I focus on this solipsistic endeavor to understand this unaccounted force acting against me, what is presented here will undoubtedly be of a more undemanding nature.

Lend me your patience.