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Timmy’s in the Well


Phineas likes to whine a lot. We joke that he’s trying to warn us, like Lassie calling for help.


He isn’t the brightest cat in the world, but he’s very sweet and cuddly. If the world were ending he isn’t the pet you’d look to for assistance or courage. He’s generally a ‘fraidy cat, scared by every odd noise. The ironing board and rustling plastic are among his deepest fears.

The other day, JC heard plaintive cries and went looking to see who was calling. Phineas was in the bedroom, mewling near the bed. The cries, however, were Lucy’s, and she was nowhere to be found. John kept looking for her to no avail—under the bed, in the dresser drawers—but no Lucy. Meanwhile, Phineas sat there, nose to the bed, crying with increasing distress. Finally, John looked at where the cat was staring and noticed a lump in the bed. Lucy had gotten herself underneath the mattress cover and slipped down to the foot of the bed, trapped inside the fitted sheet.

Granted, it was Lucy’s herself who drew attention to begin with, but I was proud of our little butterball, Phineas, for helping to rescue his sister.

Just moments ago, I heard Phineas whining in the hall. Again, he’s always doing this, so a little chirping is nothing unusual. But his cries became more insistent, and he finally got my attention. So I followed him down the hallway to our storage closet door. By this time, I knew what I would find: Lucy locked inside. She had slipped in behind me earlier this morning and hidden somewhere in the dark. This time, though, she was silent, not calling for human aid. It was Phineas who alerted his humans (“Timmy’s in the well!”).

I still don’t think Phineas will be any use during Armageddon. He’ll just run and hide if zombies or horsemen come knocking at our door. But where his sister’s curiosity gets her into these domestic scrapes, he seems adept at sounding the alarm. He does earn points for loyalty. We’ll have to start calling him “Lassie.”


From → Cats, Ponderings

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