The Show

Inspirational song: I’d Love to Change the World (Ten Years After)

Summertime in Clovis was interesting. The Junebug population would bloom, and they inevitably ended up on our front porch, attracted to the lights from both the porch and from the inside of the house. Oddly, they never seemed to accumulate, even during those weeks when they were the most plentiful. We quickly learned why.

It was ten years ago, with an entirely different crew of cats, only one of whom is still alive, living quietly but triumphantly now in California. We lived in a peaceful, aging golf course community in that small New Mexico town, and we were comfortable leaving the front door wide open all evening, and the full glass storm door let the foyer light spill out onto the porch. We noticed that the cats spent hours at a stretch perfectly still, staring out the storm door into the dark. Smacky, the one surviving cat from that group, was particularly fascinated by whatever was out there. We started dimming lights in the foyer, switching to the outside porch light more frequently. It was then we realized there were always toads—lots of toads. All sizes. They camped on our porch and front walk, waiting for the Junebugs. Some of those creepy suckers were as big as dinner plates. The cats didn’t seem intimidated though. They loved the Toad Show. We left the door open as long as possible so they could watch.

A decade later, with a whole different family of cats, and we don’t have a toad show anymore. At first we only had the Bird Show (or in internet parlance, “Birb Show”). That was fun, and we liked feeding them, especially in the winter. It wasn’t long before the squirrels figured out 1) that the food was unlimited in this yard and 2) where the food refills came from. I can’t tell you how many mornings now that I walk past with my coffee cup, and see a little face peeking in my sliding glass door. The smarty-pants always stands on her hind legs, clasping her paws together, looking into my dining room wondering whether there will be refills at the breakfast bar. She doesn’t give a flying walnut that there are faces staring back at her with blood in their eyes. If Elsa would stop getting muddy footprints on the glass door (she gets overly excited about breakfast too), I could get a clear picture of the Squirrel Show. I did capture a couple blurry shots of her facing off with Harvey and Athena. Well, they were watching. Squirrel didn’t care.