Springtime Is Home Fix-Up Time

When those dogwoods are blooming and the mushrooms are popping, it's fishing time across the land.

That is, unless your house is falling down. Then it's home improvement time as it's been this spring around the hovel.

Every project needs a supervisor: someone to crack the whip. That's when I, Boat Dock, step in to be sure my cat butler doesn't cut any corners. He's in frantic fix-up mode so he can get out on the lake after those crappie.

You've sang the verse, "Fixing a hole where the rain gets in." My manservant is fixing a hole where the cats get out. It's his own fault, and here's why.

The furless one takes off on one of his little junkets and leaves my sister and me overnight without a fill-in butler. He figures we'll be OK with the food dish overflowing and a full water bowl. There's a problem. Who's going to let us in and out 50 times a day?

Two days of maximum security, cooped up indoors, is not acceptable. My sister, T.C., has a plan. She hops up on the kitchen window sill and starts to work on a corner of the screen with a sharp claw. We don't need a stinking hacksaw to break out of this jail.

In two minutes, she's torn open a new cat door. We bounce outdoors to the freedom of our yard in springtime.

When our butler returns, he sees the tear and throws one of his tantrums. "Boat Dock!" It figures. My sister does the dirty work. I get the blame.

So on Saturday, Mr. Thinks He's Bob Vila comes home from the hardware store waving a receipt in my face for the stuff to fix the screen. Right. Like there's a pocket in this fur where I carry my billfold. Actually, I bank online.

The repair takes a precious 30 minutes of his fishing time. Whoop-de-doo. One more chore and he can chase after those crappie.

Now we're outside where I supervise the cat butler as he paints some wood siding on the hovel. He dips a brush into red paint. I move in for an up-close inspection. He's missed a spot.

As I point this out, my fine orange fur rubs against the wet siding. Oh, swell. Now there's a big red stripe down my left side like I'm a work of tom cat art. Just put me in a crate and haul me to Crystal Bridges.

It gets worse. The CB comes after me with a bucket and a sponge. Water sloshes over the rim as he lunges and grabs the base of my tail. There's no escape, and I get half a bath.

I'm soaked to the skin, and he goes to town on me, scrubbing with the rough side of the sponge. It's like sandpaper and I'm a 2-by-4. Does he bring a towel? Negatory. I run under the porch to hide my wet, matted fur.

This is the thanks I get for quality control. I'm packing my hard hat and going where my supervision is appreciated, out to the big construction project on Interstate 540. Er, excuse me. I-49.

BOAT DOCK IS FELINE OUTDOORS COLUMNIST FOR NWA MEDIA. HIS COLUMN APPEARS WHEN HE FEELS LIKE WRITING ONE. WRITE TO BOAT DOCK ON HIS FACEBOOK PAGE.

Outdoors on 04/24/2014

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